THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


THE  WHITE  ISLAND 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR 

THE 
WILLOW  WEAVER 

AND  SEVEN  OTHER 
TALES 

Cloth.      I2HIO 

$1.25  net 


E/  P.  BUTTON    &    COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


THE 

WHITE  ISLAND 

BY 

MICHAEL  WOOD    • 


NEW  YORK 
E.  P.  DUTTON  6-  COMPANY 

681  FIFTH  AVENUE 


PUBLISHED,  1919, 
BY  E.  P.  BUTTON  AND  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Printed  In  th«  United  States  of  Americ* 


TO   ALL   WHO    KNOW   THE    WHITE    ISLAND 
AND  TO  ALL   WHO   DWELL   THERE 


20437, 


"Try  now  .  .  .  and  thou  wilt  not  be  able  to  think  of 
aught  but  God.  For  I  am  He  alone,  Who  can  bind  fast  the 
mind."— B.  ANGELA  OF  FOLIGNO. 

"We  adore  Thee  .  .  .  causing  light  and  life  to  thrill  through 
the  dark  void  of  chaos;  breathing  into  man  the  Breath  of  Thy 
Divinity."— Short  Office  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

"The  chariots  of  God  are  twenty  thousand,  even  thousands 
of  angels;  and  the  Lord  is  among  them,  as  in  the  holy  place  of 
Sinai." — Psalm  Ixviii.  17. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

PROLOGUE.    To  THE  ANGELS  OF  THE  NATIONS  i 

I.    FATHER    ANTHONY    STANDISH    TO    HIS    NIECE, 

CATHERINE  ARBUTHNOT         ....  3 

II.    "TRULY"  STORIES 6 

III.  THE  SPRITE  FROM  ONE  HOLLY         .        .        .21 

IV.  A  WASTED  LIFE 27 

V.     R£N£ 38 

VI.    MRS.  CLINTON  ASSERTS  HERSELF     .         .         •  .    51 

VII.    ANDERSON'S  MONGREL 66 

VIII.    THE  LITTLE  BRETHREN 74 

IX.    WRECKAGE 84 

X.     RALPH  FORBES 101 

XI.    THE  INCARNATE  HATE 115 

XII.    A  KNIGHT  OF  HEAVEN 127 

XIII.  A  STRIPPED  SOUL 138 

XIV.  CHANGES  AT  BRENT 149 

XV.    LADY  CLINTON  COMES  TO  BRENT     .        .        .  157 

XVI.    THE  GUARDIAN  OF  BRENT  CHURCH  .        .        .  170 
XVII.    SIR  JAMES  CLINTON  COMES  TO  BRENT      .        .175 

XVIII.    A  PILGRIMAGE 187 

XIX.    THE  WHITE  GLORY 200 

XX.    FATHER  ANTHONY'S  POSTSCRIPT        .        .        .  207 

L'ENVOI.    To   THE    ANGEL   OF   THE    FLAMING 

SWORD 209 


THE  WHITE  ISLAND 


PROLOGUE 

TO  THE  ANGELS  OF  THE  NATIONS 

LORDS  of  the  nations !  ye  who  lead 
By  ways  of  peace  and  ways  of  strife, 
Content  to  yield  a  passing  good 
To  serve  the  glory  of  the  Life, 
Ye  lead  your  peoples  through  the  gloom ; 
They  writhe  beneath  your  heavy  rod, 
That  they  may  rise  again  and  rest 
In  the  still  Glory  of  their  God. 
In  'earthly  glory,  bliss  and  ease 
Ye  see  a  foolish  passing  show. 
Upon  your  course  ye  sternly  press, 
By  ways  of  failure  steadfast  go. 
Ye  see  the  Purpose  great  and  high ; 
The  marvel  of  God's  Plan  ye  know; 
Why  should  ye  heed  the  fretful  cry 
Of  frail  and  foolish  babes  below? 
To  lead  the  nation  of  your  lot, 
To  serve  unmov'd  the  Hidden  Plan 
For  which  alone  all  nature  lives, 
Both  plant  and  angel,  beast  and  man; 
This  is  your  task,  ye  mighty  Pow'rs, 
Servants  of  Him  Whose  perfect  Love 
Leads  men  and  nations  by  the  Cross 
To  rest  within  the  Height  above. 
Our  life  is  death  to  you,  great  lords ; 
And  this  is  Life  and  this  alone — 
To  stand  within  the  Light  of  God, 
Upon  the  footsteps  of  His  Throne. 


THE  WHITE  ISLAND 


CHAPTER  I 

FATHER    ANTHONY     STANDISH     TO    HIS     NIECE, 
CATHERINE  ARBUTHNOT 

"Mr  DEAR  CATHERINE, — You  say  you  have 
ceased  to  believe  that  Justice  is  the  underlying 
law  of  the  universe.  You  are  not  content  with 
a  'finite  God' ;  your  God  must  be  infinite,  eter- 
nal, all-powerful,  changeless,  and  without  be- 
ginning. Well,  I  agree  with  you!  Anything 
less  than  this  is  not  God.  But,  you  say,  if  He  be 
thus,  He  is  not  Justice. 

"I  have  heard  many  a  one  say  this,  Cathy,  but 
I  have  never  yet  heard  any  one  give  the  reason 
you  give  for  your  conclusions.  I  have  heard  of 
those  who  rested  in  faith  in  God's  Justice  in  a 
world  of  pain,  until  pain  touched  them.  When 

3 


4  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

the  anguish  was  their  own,  and  not  that  of  their 
neighbour,  all  was  changed.  They  cried,  'He  is 
not  just,  that  /  should  suffer.'  But  you,  my 
niece,  complain  that  He  is  not  just  because  He 
has  spared  you  suffering.  That  is  what  I  might 
have  expected  from  the  Catherine  Standish  of 
twenty  years  ago,  who  turned  upon  my  con- 
science-stricken brother  with  crimson  cheeks, 
brimming  eyes,  and  little  feet  that  stamped  with 
rage  because  he  had  weakly  suffered  his  young- 
est daughter,  who  had  participated  in  the  crime 
of  Alice  and  Teddy,  to  escape  the  retribution 
which  fell  upon  them :  namely,  bed  at  4.30  on  a 
summer  day !  You  say  your  husband  was  need- 
ed to  do  important  work  at  home,  that  your  boy 
is  but  five  years  old;  that  your  income  is  un- 
touched. The  world's  anguish  has  passed  you 
by;  and  there  is  nothing  you  have  done,  or  are 
ever  likely  to  do,  to  deserve  it. 

"Let  us  avoid  the  question  as  to  whether  pain 
is  necessarily  an  evil,  and  prosperity  an  invari- 
able blessing.  But  I  would  suggest  to  you  that 
we  can't  dogmatise  when  we  do  not  know  all  the 


THE  FATHER  TO  HIS  NIECE       5 

facts.  The  world  we  see  is  but  a  small  corner  of 
all  there  is  to  see.  Because  I  know  this,  I  am  go- 
ing, with  the  permission  of  those  chiefly  con- 
cerned, to  tell  you  a  story.  You  and  I  have  this 
in  common  with  Peter  Pan :  we  refuse  to  grow 
up — at  any  rate  where  stories  are  concerned. 
We  shall  never  outgrow  our  greed  for  them. 

"The  hero  of  my  story  is  not  unlike  him, 
either,  in  making  the  same  refusal,  though  from 
a  different  cause. 

"I  shall  tell  you  the  tale,  premising  that  it 
will  make  demands  on  your  credulity,  and  may 
even  shake  your  belief  in  the  truthfulness  of 
"Your  affectionate  uncle, 

"ANTHONY  STANDISH." 


CHAPTER  II 

"TRULY"  STORIES 

IT  was  in  the  early  summer  of  1899  tnat  I  re' 
ceived  a  letter  from  Lady  Lansworthy — you 
know  her,  I  think?  She  is  Jesse  Cameron's 
aunt,  his  father's  sister.  She  wrote  to  tell  me  she 
had  let  a  house  which  belonged  to  her  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Clinton. 

The  house  in  question — One  Holly — is  about 
a  mile  from  Brent  if  you  walk  "as  the  crow 
flies"  across  the  Forest.  Lady  Lansworthy  said 
the  Clintons  wanted  a  house  to  which  they  could 
run  down  now  and  then  from  town.  They  had 
taken  One  Holly  for  the  summer  from  the  pres- 
ent tenants,  with  the  idea  of  leasing  it,  if  it 
suited  them,  when  the  lease  now  running  ex- 
pired, as  it  would  do  at  Christmas. 

Lady  Lansworthy  went  on  to  say  the  Clintons 

would  like  to  make  my  acquaintance  and  visit 

6 


"TRULY"  STORIES  7 

Brent.  She  asked  me  whether  I  would  call  upon 
them.  She  said,  using  a  phrase  I  dislike,  that 
Mrs.  Clinton  was  "quite  a  good  Church  woman," 
but  she  feared  Mr.  Clinton  was  "rather  indiffer- 
ent to  religion,  as  so  many  intellectual  men  ap- 
pear to  be." 

Of  course  you  know  Mr.  Clinton  by  repute. 
At  that  time  he  was  just  beginning  to  attract  at- 
tention as  a  brilliant  essayist  and  writer  on  some 
burning  questions  of  the  day.  He  had,  I  believe, 
an  exceptionally  distinguished  career  at  Oxford. 
Altogether  he  was  somewhat  of  a  personage.  He 
was  member  for  Stacktown  at  the  time  he  took 
One  Holly;  people  were  beginning  to  predict  he 
would  one  day  be  in  the  Cabinet,  a  prediction 
which  has  never  been  fulfilled. 

He  married  a  very  wealthy  woman;  she  was 
also  handsome,  and  possessed  of  just  the  kind  of 
cleverness  which  is  useful  in  the  wife  of  such  a 
man  as  Clinton  was.  She  had  all  the  domestic 
virtues;  and  in  addition  was  a  social  success, 
tactful,  agreeable,  a  good  listener,  a  woman  who 
knew  when  to  speak  and  when  to  be  silent.  And 


8  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

she  was  ambitious,  not  for  herself,  but  for  him. 

I  went  to  call  on  the  Clintons  in  obedience  to 
Lady  Lansworthy's  request.  The  house  is  not 
in  Brent  parish,  therefore  it  is  probable  I  should 
not  have  visited  them  had  she  not  wished  me  to 
do  so.  They  were  at  home ;  I  found  them  sitting 
on  the  lawn  under  the  cedars.  One  Holly  is  a 
pretty  house,  not  large,  but  with  charming  gar- 
dens full  of  old  trees.  The  back  gate  opens  di- 
rectly on  to  the  Forest. 

The  Clintons  were  just  a  family  party;  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Clinton,  the  three  children,  and  the 
French  governess.  There  was  a  little  girl  of  ten 
— Margaret;  Jane,  aged  eight;  and  the  boy, 
Rene,  who  was  six  years  old.  Mr.  Clinton's 
mother  was  a  Frenchwoman ;  her  Christian  name 
was  Renee,  and  the  little  grandson  was  named 
after  her. 

The  girls  were  delightful  children;  frank, 
simple,  natural,  quite  at  their  ease  but  not  at 
all  forward;  they  were  evidently  excellently 
brought  up.  Nevertheless,  charming  as  they 
were,  it  was  the  boy,  Rene,  who  drew  my  atten- 


"TRULY"  STORIES  9 

tion.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  saw  such  a  strange 
little  face.  He  was  a  little  thin  shrimp  of  a 
child,  who  had  just  outgrown  the  round  curves 
of  babyhood.  His  face  had  the  most  curious 
pallor,  and  his  grey  eyes  were  pale,  too. 

I  once  saw  a  milk-white  mist-wreath  lying 
athwart  the  Cornish  coast;  the  sun's  rays  smote 
it  without  dispelling  the  mist,  so  that  it  lay 
— luminous  life-filled  whiteness — veiling  the 
coast-line  and  the  rolling,  incoming  sea. 

Rene  Clinton's  pallor  was  like  that  mist. 
There  was  a  wraith-like  quality  about  the  whole 
quaint  little  personality.  His  hair — a  thick 
shock  of  hair,  very  fine,  and  with  no  curl  in  it — 
was  of  a  dull  gold  like  that  used  for  aureoles  in 
old  missals.  But  the  most  curious  thing  about 
his  whole  appearance  was  that  his  dominant 
characteristic  was  neither  colour  nor  form — but 
light.  I  am  well  aware  that  this  sounds  like  in- 
cipient insanity,  therefore  I  must  explain  fur- 
ther my  reason  for  making  such  a  statement. 

With  some  people  it  is  their  colouring  which 
strikes  the  eye ;  with  others  their  form  and  out- 


10  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

line.  With  Rene  it  was  neither.  I  gained  an 
impression  of  luminosity;  when  I  proceeded  to 
investigate  and  analyse  impressions,  I  realised 
that  the  face  was  small  and  insignificant,  the 
eyes  very  light  grey,  and  the  hair  an  unlustrous 
pale  gold. 

When  he  had  shaken  hands  with  me  he 
slipped  away  from  the  group  and  climbed  on  to 
the  low  bough  of  an  old  cedar.  I  could  see  him, 
as  I  talked  with  his  father  and  mother,  sitting 
there  in  his  little  holland  blouse  and  knickers, 
his  thin  sunburnt  legs  and  little  bare  feet 
dangling  from  the  bough.  He  was  evidently 
in  a  private  dreamland  of  his  own,  and  his  mov- 
ing, crooning  lips  testified  that  he  was  "telling 
himself  a  story." 

Presently  he  climbed  down  and  vanished  into 
the  bushes ;  but  when  I  was  saying  good-bye  to 
Mr.  Clinton  at  the  gate  which  opens  into  the 
Forest,  Rene  suddenly  flitted  out  of  the  laurels 
like  an  elf,  and  slipped  his  hand  into  his  father's. 

"Well,  Rene,"  said  I,  "did  you  finish  the 
Story  you  were  telling  yourself  in  the  cedar?" 


"TRULY"  STORIES  11 

He  looked  up  at  me  with  his  odd  light  eyes — 
he  had  a  very  steady  direct  gaze — and  answered 
without  a  trace  of  shyness : 

"Yes.  But  it  was  only  a  pertence — that  one !" 

"Will  you  come  over  to  Brent  and  tell  me  a 
story  one  day*?"  said  I.  'Tm  very  fond  of 
stories.  Come  before  the  strawberries  have 
gone." 

"I'll  come,"  he  answered  solemnly.  "Do  you 
like  truly  or  pertence  stories  best?" 

"It's  very  kind  of  you,  Father  Standish,"  said 
Clinton.  "But  it  is  a  little  rash.  You  must  not 
let  him  be  a  nuisance  to  you.  You're  perilously 
near  our  back  gate,  you  know.  Rene,  you  must 
not  run  over  to  Brent,  except  when  Father 
Standish  is  kind  enough  to  ask  you." 

"Father  Standish  did  ask  me,"  said  Rene, 
with  no  abatement  of  his  solemnity.  "And  I  are 
not  going  to  be  a  nuisance." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Clinton,  laughing.  "I 
hope  you  will  let  me  come  too,  Father  Standish ; 
though  I  am  afraid  I  only  deal  in  hard  facts." 

I  assured  him  I  should  be  glad  to  see  him,  re- 


12  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

peated  my  invitation  to  the  mist-child,  and  took 
my  way  home  across  the  Forest. 

Three  days  later,  I  was  just  leaving  the  chapel 
when  I  saw  a  small  holland-clad,  sandalled  fig- 
ure standing  motionless  in  the  cloister,  staring 
earnestly  at  a  figure  of  S.  Michael  which  stands 
in  a  niche.  It  is  a  very  fine  piece  of  work. 

We  do  not  talk  in  the  cloister ;  so  I  smiled  and 
nodded,  took  the  child's  hand  and  led  him  into 
the  turf  quadrangle  where  the  Cornish  cross 
stands;  you  remember  it,  a  big  cross  of  grey 
granite. 

"That's  right,  Rene,"  I  said.  "That's  very 
kind  of  you.  You've  come  to  tell  me  my  story." 

"I  are  come  to  tell  you,"  he  said  seriously, 
with  a  heavy  sigh  as  of  one  who  has  successfully 
combated  difficulties.  "I  'tickerlily  wanted  to. 
I  couldn't  make  them  let  me  before.  They  said 
I  should  be  a  bother." 

"They  were  mistaken,"  I  replied.  "We  will 
come  and  have  our  strawberries  in  the  little  gar- 
den of  the  Holy  Child,  and  there  you  shall  tell 
me  my  story." 


"TRULY"  STORIES  13 

The  garden  of  the  Holy  Child  is  a  garden 
within  a  garden;  it  is  walled  round  by  an  old 
box  hedge,  ten  feet  high,  and  very  closely 
clipped.  The  garden  has  turf  walks,  and  the  only 
flowers  in  it  are  a  profusion  of  different  kinds  of 
lilies  and  roses,  save  in  the  spring,  when  snow- 
drops and  scillas  reign  there  in  great  masses.  At 
one  end  is  a  broad  grey  stone  bench  facing  a  lit- 
tle shrine  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  garden, 
which  takes  its  name  from  the  shrine,  for  therein 
is  a  Figure  of  the  Holy  Mother  with  her  Divine 
Child. 

The  Child  bends  forward  from  His  Mother's 
arms,  His  little  hand  raised  in  blessing;  it  is  a 
lovely,  gracious  and  very  child-like  figure;  it  is 
the  work  of  a  woman. 

Rene  and  I  sat  on  the  bench,  and  I  had  the 
strawberries  brought  there,  in  a  big  cabbage-leaf, 
by  a  gardening  boy. 

"Now,"  said  I,  "we'll  begin  with  our  straw- 
berries and  go  on  to  our  story,  shall  we*?" 

I  said  this  because  I  supposed  the  immediate 
attraction  of  the  red  juicy  berries  would  be  hard 


H  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

to  resist.  I  saw  this  was  a  mistake  on  my  part. 
Rene  was  very  polite  and  assented  at  once ;  but 
evidently  the  strawberries  were  to  him  an  unim- 
portant detail ;  he  loved  better  his  dreamland. 

He  ate  the  crimson  fruit  slowly ;  and  as  he  ate 
I  talked  a  little ;  asking  him  questions  to  draw 
him  out.  At  last  I  asked  him  what  he  was  going 
to  be  when  he  was  a  man.  He  paused  with  a 
strawberry  in  his  hand  and  said  slowly : 

"I've  never  thought." 

Then,  as  though  striving  to  make  up  to  me  for 
his  own  deficiencies,  he  said : 

"Margaret  says  it  would  be  nice  to  write 
books;  but  Jane  says  it  would  be  nicer  to  be  an 
engine-driver,  'cause  then  you'd  be  always  going 
away  somewhere." 

"It's  very  useful  to  be  an  engine-driver,"  said 
I. 

"Y-yes,"  he  said  doubtfully.  "But  I 
shouldn't  like  always  to  be  going  away.  And 
truly  stories  are  useful  too." 

"True  stories'?"  said  I.  "Well,  yes!  Some- 
times they  are." 


'TRULY"  STORIES  15 

"Not  true  stories,"  he  said  quickly.  "Truly 
stories,  not  pertence." 

"Rene/'  said  I,  "what's  the  difference  be- 
tween true  and  truly  stories'?" 

"If  I  was  to  say  there's  a  drefful  dragon  to  eat 
you  in  that  bush,"  he  replied,  "that's  all  a  per- 
tence; and  you  needn't  be  frightened — not  un- 
less you  like  to  be." 

"I  see !"  I  answered. 

"Jane  likes  to  be  frightened,"  he  said.  "But 
if  she  gets  too  frightened  she  screams,  and  Mar- 
garet tells  her  she's  a  silly." 

"But  what's  a  truly  story,  Rene*?"  I  asked. 

"If  I  tell  you  a  very  brave  thing,"  said  Rene, 
"that's  a  truly  story ;  because  there  is  very  brave 
people,  and  it  makes  you  feel  so." 

He  waved  his  arms  skywards  with  a  spacious 
gesture. 

"And  a  true  story?" 

"If  I  say  what  we  had  for  dinner,  that's 
true." 

"I  see.    A  little  dull  V 


16  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"Well !  True  stories  is  generally  duller  than 
truly  stories." 

"And  which  will  you  tell  me*?" 

"I  should  like,"  he  answered  slowly  and 
thoughtfully,  letting  the  strawberry  he  held  fall 
on  the  grass,  "to  tell  you  about  the  White 
Island." 

"Is  it  truly  or  pretence?" 

"It  isn't  either.  The  White  Island  is  true." 

"Is  it  dull?' 

"No.    It's  the  very  truliest  place  there  is." 

"I  should  like  to  hear  about  it.    Where  is  it?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You  don't  know !    Who  told  you  about  it?" 

"Not  nobody,"  said  Rene  with  much  earnest- 
ness. 

"Have  you  been  there,  then?" 

"Yes." 

"Often?" 

"Two  times." 

"How  did  you  get  there,  Rene?" 

"I  didn't." 

"Didn't  get  there?" 


"TRULY"  STORIES  17 

"No.    You  don't  get  there.    You're  there." 
"There,  without  knowing  how  you  get  there*? 
Do  you  get  there  after  you  go  to  sleep,  is  that 

it?' 

"No.    That's  when  you  dream." 

"And  you  don't  get  to  the  White  Island  when 
you  dream1?" 

"No.  There's  dream  things  there.  But  you 
don't  dream." 

"Well,"  said  I.  "Suppose  you  tell  me  what 
it  looks  like,  Rene." 

"There's  water  all  round  it.  And  it's  white 
as  white." 

"Yes?' 

"And  the  cliffs  all  round  are  white." 

"Yes?' 

"And  the  stream  is  white." 

He  paused,  and  his  eyes  roved  over  the  roses, 
glowing  pink,  crimson,  white  and  golden  in  the 
June  sunshine. 

"All  the  colours  come  from  the  White  Is- 
land," he  said. 

The  words  startled  me.    I  began  to  wonder 


18  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

what  lay  behind  this  queer  working  of  a  child- 
brain. 

"Is  there  no  colour  there,  then?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.    "There's  green  pastures." 

I  thought  I  had  the  clue.  Some  one  had  been 
reading  the  Twenty-third  Psalm  to  the  dreamy, 
sensitive  little  boy.  I  was  right ;  in  so  far  that  I 
found  he  knew  it. 

"Sheep  in  the  pasture,  I  suppose  ?"  I  said. 

"Yes.  Black  ones  and  white.  And  there's  a 
little  house.  But  it's  a  dream-house.  No  one 
lives  there." 

"Why  is  it  there,  then?" 

"  'Cause  it  means  a  secret." 

"What  secret  does  it  mean?" 

"What  houses  do  mean." 

"And  what  do  houses  mean?" 

"I  telled  you.    They're  a  secret." 

I  felt  I  was  getting  out  of  my  depth,  and  I 
hastened,  as  I  thought,  into  the  shallows. 

"Is  there  anything  else  there?"  said  I. 

"Yes,"  answered  Rene.  "There's  the  Joyous 
Shepherd." 


"TRULY"  STORIES  19 

The  words  were  uttered  with  such  swiftness 
and  certainty,  and  were  so  strange  from  the  lips 
of  the  child,  that  I  exclaimed  involuntarily: 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"No  one  telled  me,"  he  answered. 

"How  do  you  know  the  shepherd  is  joyous, 
and  what  does  the  word  mean?" 

For  I  felt  sure  the  little  boy  was  using  a  word 
without  knowing  its  precise  meaning.  Children 
often  do  this;  sometimes  attaching  to  a  word 
thus  spoken  an  undisclosed  meaning  of  their 
own. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "And  I  don't 
know  just  what  joyous  means.  But  it's  what  he 
is.  He's  the  Joyous  Shepherd." 

"What  does  he  do?    Watch  the  sheep?" 

"I  s'pose  so.    And  I  s'pose  he  makes  music." 

"Why  do  you  suppose  that?" 

"  'Cause  there  is  a  big  music.  An'  there's  no 
one  else  there  to  make  it." 

I  determined  to  lead  the  conversation  to  an- 
other subject.  After  a  while  I  made  him  tell  me 
a  "pertence"  story  of  an  extremely  thrilling 


20  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

character,  and  then  I  took  him  to  see  the  Persian 
kittens,  and  promised  to  give  him  one  of  them 
later. 

I  walked  home  with  him  across  the  Forest, 
and  saw  him  safely  into  the  back  gate  at  One 
Holly. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  SPRITE  FROM  ONE  HOLLY 

A  FEW  days  later  Mr.  Clinton  came  over  to 
Brent  to  see  the  farm.  I  spoke  to  him  of  Rene, 
saying  how  much  I  had  been  struck  by  the  child's 
play  of  fancy  and  quaint  thought.  He  answered 
with  a  little  touch  of  fretfulness. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "there's  too  much  play  of 
fancy.  However,  I  think  he  will  soon  get  rid  of 
all  that  at  school.  I  shall  send  him  to  school  as 
soon  as  he  is  eight.  He  is  very  backward." 

"But  he  is  only  six  years  old." 

"True !  And  I  do  not  think  nursery  children 
should  be  pressed  with  lessons.  Their  brains 
suffer  for  it  later.  But  he  is  backward,  for  all 
that.  The  governess  can  get  nothing  into  his 
idle  little  head.  I  doubt  if  he  can  read.  But  I 
think  all  will  be  well  when  he  is  with  other 
boys." 

21 


22  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

He  hesitated.  Then  he  said : 

"Father  Standish,  did  the  child  tell  you  his 
queer  'White  Island'  fancy*?" 

"He  did,"  I  answered. 

"Now  I  should  like  your  advice  as  to  how  to 
deal  with  that,"  said  Clinton.  "My  wife's  moth- 
er, who  is  of  the  old  school,  is  terribly  shocked. 
She  thinks  the  child  ought  to  be  whipped  for  ly- 
ing. I  won't  allow  that.  I  should  be  severe  in 
a  case  of  genuine  lying,  but  I  do  not  think  this 
is  one.  I  believe  I  am  fairly  tolerant;  but  I 
should  not  like  a  boy  of  mine  to  be  a  liar.  If  I 
thought  Rene  lied,  I  should  punish  him  for  it. 
But  he  is  truthful.  He  is  the  most  accurate  in 
his  thought  and  careful  in  his  statements  of  the 
three  children.  I  never  hear  him  make  loose  and 
exaggerated  reports  of  anything  which  has  hap- 
pened." 

"I  noticed,"  I  answered,  "the  perfectly  clear 
distinctions  he  drew  between  actual  occurrences, 
tales  which  were  simply  personifications  of  pos- 
sibilities, and  tales  with  no  possible  foundation 
in  the  world  of  facts,  which  were  sheer  and  con- 


SPRITE  FROM  ONE  HOLLY      23 

scious  creations  of  fancy.  I  thought  it  meant  an 
instinct  for  truth,  and  a  clarity  of  thought  rather 
unusual  in  a  child  of  six." 

"It  is  true,"  he  said.  "I  gather  you  think 
with  me.  The  boy  ought  not  to  be  punished  for 
lying1?" 

"I  think  you  would  do  him  a  great  injustice," 
I  replied.  "When  a  truthful  person  makes  an  in- 
explicable statement,  you  owe  it  to  him  to  treat 
his  statement  with  respect,  though  you  may  find 
it  impossible  of  credence.  Rene's  'White  Is- 
land' is  real  to  him.  To  punish  him  as  a  liar 
would  be  a  gross  injustice.  Don't  let  him  feel 
that  injustice  lies  at  the  root  of  things  in  his 
little  world." 

"I  am  glad  you  feel  that,"  answered  Clinton. 
"I  shall  take  your  advice.  I'm  sure  it's  sound. 
This  'island'  idea  of  his  is  a  queer  thing,  and  I 
don't  like  it.  But  I  expect  the  better  plan  is  to 
take  no  notice  of  it;  the  fancy  will  die  or  get 
crowded  out  by  facts." 

I  assented.     At  the  same  time  I  wondered, 


24  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

just  in  passing,  whether  Rene's  White  Island 
was  a  root  fact. 

"There  is  one  thing  to  be  said,"  went  on  Clin- 
ton cheerfully.  "The  child  is  a  remarkably  good 
boy.  He  is  very  obedient,  and  never  out  of 
temper.  He  is  unselfish ;  he  never  wants  to  keep 
anything  he  can  give  up  to  the  girls.  And  the 
little  chap  has  any  amount  of  pluck.  I  do  not 
know  of  anything,  real  or  imaginary,  that  he  is 
afraid  of." 

I  gave  Rene  the  freedom  of  Brent,  and  the 
quaint  little  boy  took  a  great  fancy  to  the  place. 
He  used  to  come  over  alone  from  One  Holly, 
for  he  was  very  independent  in  his  ways,  and, 
as  his  father  said,  quite  fearless.  We  became 
used  to  the  sight  of  the  quiet  little  figure.  He 
never  claimed  our  attention,  nor  did  he  seem  to 
want  it. 

Once  I  found  him  in  the  chapel,  standing  mo- 
tionless, with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  white  veil  of 
the  Tabernacle.  But  for  the  most  part  he  flitted 
about  the  gardens  and  the  farm  lands. 

One  day  my  friend,  David  Alison,  who  has 


SPRITE  FROM  ONE  HOLLY      25 

rooms  in  the  guest-house,  came  to  my  room  off 
the  cloister. 

"What  is  there  about  that  sprite  from  One 
Holly  that  makes  me  feel  Eternity  to  be  man's 
natural  dwelling-place*?"  he  said  suddenly. 

I  looked  up  from  my  desk  with  a  sense  that 
Alison  had  given  expression  to  a  vague  thought 
which  had  been  lurking  in  the  back  of  my  mind, 
and  troubling  me  because  I  could  not  put  it  into 
form. 

"My  dear  David,"  said  I,  "I'm  grateful  to 
you.  That  is  what  small  Rene  Clinton  does 
make  me  feel.  That  is  precisely  it!  But  why? 
I  fear  I  cannot  answer  you  that." 

"I  came  across  him  just  now,"  said  Alison. 
"I  went  into  the  garden  of  the  Holy  Child  to 
look  at  the  lilies.  I  saw  Rene  sitting  cross- 
legged  on  the  grass  before  the  shrine.  I  said, 
'Hullo,  little  chap,  what  are  you  doing?'  He 
scrambled  up,  and  said  in  his  portentously 
solemn  way :  'I  are  telling  a  truly  story  to  the 
Holy  Child,  Mr.  Alison.'  He  looked  more  like 


26  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

a  little  white  flame  than  a  flesh-and-blood 
child." 

Alison's  words  made  me  think  of  the  legends 
I  had  heard  of  child  saints  whose  gambols  the 
Holy  Babe  deigned  to  join.  I  wondered  wheth- 
er He  had  gathered  up  Rene's  little  offering  of 
faith  and  love,  his  "truly  story,"  and  garnered 
it  among  His  Treasures. 

There  came  a  night,  the  fourth  of  September, 
in  the  summer  of  1917,  when  I  felt  sure  He  had 
done  so. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  WASTED  LIFE 

AT  the  end  of  the  summer  the  Clintons  left  One 
Holly  and  did  not  return  there.  I  do  not  know 
whether  they  did  not  like  the  house,  or  whether 
some  hitch  occurred  in  their  arrangements  with 
Lady  Lansworthy. 

They  went  away,  and  I  heard  nothing  of  them 
for  fourteen  years.  When  I  say  I  did  not  hear 
of  them,  I  mean  I  had  no  personal  communica- 
tion with  them.  I  heard  of  Clinton  from  time  to 
time.  I  read  some  of  his  writings.  People  who 
came  to  the  guest-house  mentioned  him,  for  he 
was  increasingly  in  the  public  eye.  I  heard  that 
his  daughter  Jane  was  remarkably  beautiful,  and 
I  saw  in  the  papers  that  she  was  married.  It  was 
what  is  called  a  "good  match." 

I  often  thought  of  little  Rene;  and  I  prayed 
27 


28  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

for  him,  especially  during  the  years  in  which  I 
knew  he  must  be  growing  from  youth  to  man- 
hood. 

In  the  spring  of  1913,  while  we  were  yet  liv- 
ing in  our  fool's  paradise  of  a  false  peace,  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Mrs.  Clinton.  She  wrote 
as  follows: — 

"DEAR  FATHER  STANDISH, — I  think  you  will 
scarcely  remember  me ;  it  is  fourteen  years,  I  be- 
lieve, since  we  were  your  neighbours  at  One 
Holly.  You  were  very  kind  then  to  my  boy ;  I 
suppose  that  is  why  my  mind  turns  to  you  now. 
A  very  bitter  sorrow  has  fallen  upon  me  and 
upon  my  husband.  The  most  bitter  and  cruel,  I 
think,  we  could  possibly  have  been  called  upon 
to  endure.  It  has  utterly  undermined  my  faith. 
I  do  not  believe  in  God's  Love,  nor  in  His  Jus- 
tice. Perhaps  when  you  read  these  words  you 
will  refuse  to  help  me.  For  Rene's  sake  I  en- 
treat you  not  to  refuse.  You  are  the  one  hope  I 
have.  My  husband  has  none.  But  I  have  just 


A  WASTED  LIFE  29 

a  little  hope  that  you  will  make  my  cup  less  bit- 
ter.   May  I  come  and  see  you*? 

"Yours  very  sincerely, 

"THERESA  CLINTON." 

I  wrote  at  once,  expressing  my  sympathy,  and 
asking  her  to  choose  her  own  time  for  coming  to 
Brent.  She  came  to  stay  at  an  hotel  in  Lexmin- 
ster,  and  came  to  Brent  in  a  hired  car.  She  ar- 
rived at  the  guest-house,  and  I  went  to  her  at 
once.  She  was  a  very  handsome,  dignified,  and 
graceful  woman;  she  was  then  forty- four,  and 
she  did  not  look  very  much  older  than  she  did 
when  I  saw  her  at  One  Holly. 

Her  manner  was  composed  and  restrained ;  she 
did  not  display  her  emotion  during  the  first  five 
minutes  of  our  interview.  She  asked  after 
David  Alison,  and  spoke  of  his  books;  com- 
mented on  the  spring  flowers  in  our  gardens,  and 
spoke  of  the  marriage  of  her  daughter  Jane  to 
an  American. 

Then  came  a  silent  pause;  during  which  she 
sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  I  broke  iti 


30  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"Mrs.  Clinton,"  I  said,  "I  hope  you  know  that 
if  there  is  anything  I  can  do " 

She  rose  and  walked  to  the  window.  Stand- 
ing with  her  back  to  me,  she  spoke. 

"You  have  not  heard  of  our  great  trouble?" 
she  asked. 

"Only  from  you,  and  you  gave  me  no  de- 
tails." 

"No,"  she  said,  "you  are  not  one  to  hear 
gossip.  There  is  gossip  enough  about  it,  but 
they  do  not  readily  bring  it  to  you." 

Then  she  turned.  Her  face  was  working  with 
agony.  Her  hands  were  clenched. 

"O,"  she  cried,  "the  pain  of  knowing  the  talk 
and  chatter  is  the  least  part !  Father  Standish, 
if  there  be  a  God,  He  is  cruel !  What  can  it  be 
but  cruelty  that  stabs  us  through  our  child1? 
What  can  it  be  but  incompetent  folly  or  malig- 
nant cruelty?  O,  I  shock  you!  I  shock  you! 
But  just  look  at  it!  A  wasted  life!  Exquisite 
pain  to  me  and  to  my  husband.  We  were  not 
neglectful  parents.  We  were  prepared  to  spare 
neither  pains  nor  expense  to  make  him  a  credit 


A  WASTED  LIFE  31 

to  us,  and  a  useful  member  of  society.  And  this 
happens — this!  How  can  you  wonder  if  my 
faith  is  dead4?" 

"Faith  never  dies,"  I  answered,  "Faith  is  that 
which  is  brought  to  birth  when  God's  Touch 
falls  on  the  spirit  of  man.  It  is  an  immortal 
thing.  Belief  is  sometimes  a  name  for  the  non- 
critical  acceptance  of  statements  in  which  we 
are  not  sufficiently  interested  to  inquire  whether 
they  are  true.  That  kind  of  belief  cannot 
weather  a  storm." 

She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment. 

"You've  hit  home,  Father  Standish,"  she 
said.  "I  have  accepted  things  without  inquiry 
because  I  was  not  very  deeply  interested  in  them. 
I  own  that.  I  am  worldly.  If  the  choice  had 
been  put  before  me  as  to  whether  Rene  should  be 
a  S.  Francis  of  Assisi  or  Prime  Minister  of  Eng- 
land, I  should  have  chosen  the  latter.  I  know 
that.  But  doesn't  that  make  it  harder  for  me 
now1?" 

"It  does,"  I  answered.  "I  gather  that  your 
sorrow  is  caused  by  Rene.  Is  it  not  so?" 


32  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

She  nodded  silently.  She  could  not  speak  /or 
the  moment.  When  she  spoke,  her  lips  trem- 
bled ;  and  she  found  it  hard  to  form  her  words. 

"You  remember  him,"  she  said.  "He  was  a 
strange,  dreamy  little  boy,  wasn't  he*?" 

"He  was.    He  interested  me  very  much." 

"My  husband  so  built  on  him,"  she  went  on. 
"We  had  two  girls,  and  he  was  so  delighted 
when  the  boy  came.  He  is  an  ambitious  man, 
Father  Standish,  but  his  ambitions  for  our  son 
were  greater  than  for  himself.  You  know — 
though  I  am  his  wife,  I  must  say  it — he  is  very 
able." 

"Every  one  knows  that,"  I  replied. 

"Margaret  is  like  him,"  she  continued.  "You 
may  have  heard  how  brilliant  his  career  was  at 
the  University.  Hers  has  been  equally  so.  She 
went  to  Newnham;  she  carried  off  everything 
she  could.  There  was  no  man  of  her  year  who 
did  so  well  as  she.  My  husband  does  not  care 
much  for  that  kind  of  cleverness  in  a  woman.  He 
likes  a  clever  woman.  He  likes  a  woman  who 
can  'tenir  un  salon'  and  help  her  husband  so- 


A  WASTED  LIFE  33 

cially.  Jane  is  more  of  that  type.  But  he  was 
pleased  about  Margaret,  too." 

She  paused  for  a  few  seconds. 

"But  all  his  real  hopes  were  for  Rene.  Think, 
Father  Standish,  what  an  awful  blow  it  was 
when  he  found  they  could  never  be  realised." 

"Why  could  they  not?" 

She  sobbed — mastered  herself  by  a  great  ef- 
fort— and  went  on. 

"It  has  been  quite  impossible  to  teach  him 
anything,"  she  said. 

"Why  not?' 

"Because  he  is  not  able,  apparently,  to  con- 
centrate his  mind  on  any  of  the  things  he  ought 
to  learn.  He  cannot  grasp  nor  remember  them. 
He  could  not  be  sent  to  a  school,  nor,  of  course, 
to  the  University.  A  private  tutor  was  useless 
too.  He  has  none  of  the  interests,  none  of  the 
knowledge  proper  to  a  boy  or  a  young  man. 
Imagine  what  it  meant  to  us !  My  husband  was 
very  angry  with  him  at  first.  He  thought  it  was 
wilful  idleness.  It  was  terrible  for  Rene;  terri- 
ble for  us  all !  But  when  my  husband  knew  it 


34  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

was  not  his  fault,  he  ceased  to  be  angry.  He  is 
always  fair,  and  reasonable,  and  just." 

"But  did  you  not  consult  a  doctor*?"  I  asked. 

"A  doctor,  Father  Standish !  There's  not  a 
brain  and  nerve  specialist  in  Europe  or  in  Amer- 
ica we've  not  consulted." 

"And  what  is  their  verdict?" 

"All  agree  they  have  never  seen  such  a  case. 
A  few — the  very  greatest  men — men  who  know 
too  much  to  mind  saying  they  are  ignorant,  say 
frankly  they  do  not  understand  it,  and  decline 
to  diagnose.  But  most  say  that,  for  some  in- 
explicable reason,  there  has  been  arrested  devel- 
opment of  the  brain." 

"You  thought  I  might  be  of  some  service  to 
you,  Mrs.  Clinton." 

"I  hoped  you  might.  Do  you  remember  my 
poor  boy's  fancy  of  the  White  Island?" 

"I  do.    I  was  much  struck  by  it." 

"He  has  never  lost  that  childish  fancy.  He 
still  speaks  of  it  at  times,  and  maintains  it  is  an 
actual  place.  That,  of  course,  is  an  hallucina- 


A  WASTED  LIFE  35 

tion  which  shows  there  must  be  something  wrong 
with  the  brain." 

I  did  not  answer.  I  did  not  feel  wholly  sure 
of  that. 

"My  husband  says  he  cannot  have  Re*ne  at 
home  any  longer.  He  is  just  twenty  now.  My 
husband  says  it  is  not  solely  the  fact  that  the  in- 
tense pain  of  seeing  him  is  injuring  his  own 
work,  but  he  cannot  bear  that  people  who  come 
to  the  house  should  see  his  son  is  mentally  de- 
fective. He  suggests  that  Rene  should  be 
placed  with  a  doctor." 

"Not  in  an  asylum?" 

"Not  that.  But  there  are  doctors  who  take 
what  are  called  'borderland  cases.'  We  went  to 
see  such  a  place  last  week.  It  was  a  nice  house 
and  garden  and  tennis  courts,  and  the  doctor 
and  his  wife  were  kind  and  pleasant.  There 
were  three  unhappy,  queer-looking  people  who 
were  patients.  Oh!  I  couldn't  bear  it!  I 
couldn't  have  Rene  sent  there  as  one  of  them! 
My  husband  says  I  am  not  reasonable.  I  don't 


36  THE  WHITE  ISLAND       , 

care !  A  mother  can't  be  reasonable  about  her 
boy." 

"Thank  God  she  cannot !" 

"I  was  ambitious  for  him  too.  I  feel  that  pain 
as  my  husband  does.  But  that  pain  is  all,  or  al- 
most all,  he  feels.  He  loved  Rene  when  he 
thought  he  should  be  proud  of  him.  Now  he 
can't  be  that,  he  does  his  duty  by  him,  and  is 
quite  fair  and  gentle  with  him.  But  I  love  him 
just  as  much,  though  my  ambition  is  dead  and 
my  pride  in  him  disappointed;  do  you  see*?" 

"I  do.  So  does  God  love  His  children,  in 
whom  He  is  disappointed  every  day.  He  is  very 
patient  with  us !" 

"I  felt  I  could  not  bear  it.  When  I  came 
home  and  was  looking  through  a  drawer  in  my 
desk,  I  came  upon  an  old  photograph  of  One 
Holly.  It  was  like  an  inspiration.  I  thought  of 
you.  O  Father  Standish !  You  were  so  good  to 
my  poor  Rene  once;  will  you  let  him  come  here 
now?' 

"For  a  visit,  most  gladly,"  I  answered.  "I 
would  not  promise  that  Brent  should  be  his 


A  WASTED  LIFE  37 

home  till  I  had  seen  and  talked  with  him.  But 
if  he  will  come  here  for  a  month " 

"O,"  she  broke  in  passionately,  "God  has 
some  mercy  after  all;  I  could  bear  to  think  of 
him  with  you,  in  tHis  beautiful  still  place." 

"If  Mr.  Clinton  will  consent  to  it,"  said  I,  "I 
will  gladly  receive  your  son  in  the  guest-house 
for  a  month." 


CHAPTER  V 

RENE 

RENE  CLINTON  arrived  at  the  guest-house  one 
Saturday  afternoon.  There  was  nothing  in  his 
appearance  to  suggest  "arrested  development  of 
the  brain,"  or  any  want  of  co-ordination  of  mind 
and  body. 

He  was,  in  some  ways,  very  little  changed. 
He  was  of  medium  height  and  very  slim  and 
lissom.  The  peculiarities  of  appearance  which 
I  noticed  in  the  child  of  six  had  increased  rath- 
er than  diminished  in  the  youth  of  twenty  years. 
He  had  the  same  quiet  friendly  manner,  free 
from  all  distrust;  the  same  dreamy  air  of  ab- 
straction ;  the  same  solemn  way  of  fixing  his  eyes 
intently  on  people  before  he  spoke,  as  though  he 
was  slowly  travelling  towards  them  from  an 

enormous  distance. 

38 


RENE  39 

I  asked  him  whether  he  remembered  One 
Holly  and  Brent. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "I  do.  And  I  remember 
you." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  and  finally  said 
slowly : 

"It  is  because  you  and  Brent  belong  to  the 
things  I  can  remember." 

It  was  a  curious  speech.  I  did  not  ask  him  to 
explain  it.  I  was  trying  to  keep  an  open  mind 
with  regard  to  Rene;  I  was  anxious  not  to  ac- 
cept any  pronouncement  which  had  been  made 
concerning  him;  but  to  remain  quite  unbiassed 
in  the  whole  matter. 

He  asked  me  that  night  whether  he  might  re- 
ceive Holy  Communion  the  next  morning. 

"I  always  do  on  the  first  Sunday  in  the 
month,"  he  said,  simply. 

I  expect  this  had  been  his  custom  since  he  was 
confirmed.  He  was  reverent;  but  he  displayed 
no  outward  signs  of  special  devotion  or  fervour. 
I  have  no  doubt  he  said  his  prayers  morning  and 


40  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

evening;  but  I  do  not  think  he  prayed  at  any 
other  time  save  at  Mass  and  Evensong. 

He  gave  no  external  signs  of  great  piety;  he 
simply  did  what  his  mother,  who  was,  as  Lady 
Lansworthy  said,  "a  good  Churchwoman," 
taught  him  to  do  when  he  was  a  child  and  a 
young  boy. 

Noel  Cardross,  the  playwright,  was  at  Brent 
for  the  week-end.  I  am  very  fond  of  Noel.  He 
did  not  know  Rene  Clinton's  name;  but  he  sat 
opposite  to  him  at  the  supper-table.  That  eve- 
ning I  walked  a  little  in  the  quadrangle  with 
Noel,  and  he  said  suddenly : 

"I  say,  Father  Anthony,  that  boy  who  was  op- 
posite me  at  supper  is  a  new  guest,  isn't  he4?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied.    "It  is  his  first  visit  here." 

"He  looks  fitter  for  your  'house  of  peace,' 
doesn't  he?'  said  Noel. 

"Do  you  think  so4?" 

"Do  not  you  ?  He  gave  me  the  queerest  feel- 
ing as  I  sat  opposite  to  him." 

"What  was  that,  Noel?' 

"All  the  world  suddenly  became  a  sort  of 


RENE  41 

shadow  of  some  other  world  which  was  the  real 
thing — a  sort  of  Plato's  cave." 

"That  is  rather  interesting.  Did  you  feel  this 
long?' 

"Whenever  I  thought  of  the  boy.  I  didn't 
like  it.  I  like  to  be  on  solid  ground,  not  sha- 
dow-land. What  is  that  fellow's  name?" 

"Rene  Clinton." 

"Rene  Clinton !    Not  the  Clinton's  son?" 

"Yes.    The  Clinton's  son." 
-    "But  he  is  half-witted,  isn't  he?' 

"I  do  not  know,  Noel.  That  is  Rene  Clin- 
ton, at  all  events." 

Noel  Cardross  stared  at  me  silently.  I  sup- 
pose he  had  heard  much  chatter  and  gossip  con- 
cerning Rene  Clinton.  He  knew  he  must  not 
import  them  to  Brent,  for  gossip  is  totally  for- 
bidden here.  It  is  almost  the  only  rule  I  never 
relax.  He  began  to  talk  of  other  matters.  His 
words  rested  in  my  mind;  they  fitted  in  with 
those  uttered  years  ago  by  Alison  respecting  "the 
sprite  from  One  Holly." 

I  had  no  opportunity  of  talking  with  Rene 


42  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

on  Sunday.  On  Monday  afternoon  I  asked  him 
whether  he  would  walk  a  little  way  with  me  in 
the  Forest. 

The  salt  air  from  the  sea,  five  miles  distant, 
blew  through  the  pines.  There  was  no  sound 
save  the  coo  of  a  wood-pigeon,  and  the  soft 
chanting  of  the  boughs  overhead.  On  the  "open 
Forest"  beyond  the  pines  a  herd  of  ponies  were 
feeding. 

We  walked  in  silence.  I  noted  it  was  a  very 
sympathetic  and  speechful  silence.  Both  Rene 
and  I  were  happy  in  it ;  we  felt  no  need  to  talk. 
We  came  to  a  great  circle  of  barked  oaks,  ringed 
round  by  the  pines.  They  were  big  trees,  and 
they  looked  as  though  carved  from  frosted  sil- 
ver. One  of  them  had  fallen. 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  I. 

We  did  so.  There  were  bushes  of  black- 
thorn, white  as  snow,  in  the  circle.  A  squirrel 
skurried  across  the  turf  and  dashed  up  a  pine 
tree.  Rene  broke  the  silence. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  have  let  me  come  here," 
he  said.  "I  am  very  glad  my  father  has  not  sent 


RENE  43 

me  to  the  doctor's.  I  think  I  can  tell  you  what 
I  am  not  able  to  tell  any  one  else.  Something 
ties  my  tongue — paralyses  me.  I  cannot  ex- 
plain to  them.  I  know  their  pain.  I  long  to 
speak.  But  I  cannot.  I  think  I  can  make  you 
understand.  I  shall  find  words.  And  you  will 
find  words  to  tell  them,  won't  you?" 

"I  will  try  to  do  so,"  I  said. 

I  noticed  several  things  about  him  as  he  spoke 
thus.  Firstly,  the  balanced  quietude  of  his  voice 
and  manner.  Secondly,  I  saw  he  entirely  real- 
ised the  position  in  which  he  would  have  been  at 
the  doctor's,  and  it  did  not  trouble  him.  That 
is  to  say,  he  was  not  troubled  by  any  feeling  of 
personal  pain  or  wounded  vanity  at  being 
classed  with  the  mentally  unsound.  He  was 
quite  free  from  pain  which  was  rooted  in  self- 
consciousness,  self-assertion  or  pride.  His  pain 
was  solely  for  the  pain  of  his  father  and  mother. 
That  he  desired  to  soothe. 

"Father  Standish,"  he  said,  his  solemn  lumi- 
nous eyes  resting  steadily  on  mine,  "I  can- 
not learn  the  things  they  want  me  to  learn, 


44  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

nor  remember  those  they  want  me  to  remember." 

"Why  not?' 

"Because  I  am  held  fast  by  something  else.  It 
is  something  so  tremendous,  and  I  am  such  a 
speck  in  comparison,  that  I  do  not  know  how  it 
is  I  am  not  blotted  out  in  it  entirely.  It  claims 
all  I  am,  and  all  I  have;  there  is  not  a  single 
thing  in  me,  mind  and  body,  it  does  not  claim. 
I  cannot  learn  nor  remember  things  which  seem 
to  have  no  real  value,  no  real  existence,  no  life 
in  themselves.  That  is  to  say,  I  cannot  learn 
or  remember  them  while  this  tremendous  Some- 
thing holds  and  claims  me." 

"What  is  this  Something*?"  I  asked  in  a  low 
voice. 

He  suddenly  blushed  like  a  shy  girl. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  "it  is  God." 

"Do  you  mean,"  I  said  gently,  "that  you  are 
always  thinking  of  Him,  Rene?" 

"No/*  he  answered  in  the  same  whisper,  "I 
am  not  thinking  of  Him,  Father  Anthony.  It  is 
He  Who  is  thinking  of  me.  His  Power  flows 
down  on  me,  and  I — I  drown  in  It !" 


RENE  45 

I  answered  in  a  voice  almost  as  low  as  his.  It 
seemed  natural  to  whisper  mysteries  in  that  en- 
chanted circle  of  the  Forest. 

"What  has  this  to  do  with  your  White 
Island?" 

"When  He  holds  me  so  close  it  is  agony  not 
to  see  Him,"  said  Rene  in  a  mere  breath  of 
sound.  "Then — sometimes — I — am  there." 

"In  the  White  Island?' 

He  nodded. 

"Has  it  changed  since  you  told  me  of  it  be- 
fore?" 

"It  could  not  change.  Because  I  change  I  see 
it  differently.  That  is  all." 

"In  what  way  do  you  see  it  differently?" 

"I  do  not  see  it  as  an  island  now.  But  it  is 
the  same  place  as  that  in  which  I  was  as  a  child. 
The  only  thing  I  see  now  is  the  Whiteness  that 
is  Life.  In  the  whiteness  I  see  the  Joyous  Shep- 
herd. And  I  hear  music." 

"Do  you  know  now  why  you  call  Him  thus?" 

"Of  course !"  he  said  with  a  look  of  surprise. 
"Victory  is  joyous," 


46  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

He  bent  a  little  towards  me  on  the  oak  and 
sang  under  his  breath  these  words : 

"Call  home  My  dreaming  sheep, 
My  sheep  that  stray; 

Lost  in  the  dreams  they  fashion  day  by  day. 
Sheep  black  and  white  are  Mine, 
I  shepherd  all. 

I  hear  their  crying  when  for  Me  they  call. 
I  am  the  Shepherd  of  all  flocks  that  be, 
Nor  any  craft  may  part  My  sheep  from  Me." 

"Do  you  hear  those  words'?"  I  asked. 

"No.  No  words.  But  that  is  the  message  of 
the  whiteness  and  the  music." 

"Rene,"  said  I,  "when  you  and  I  know  each 
other  even  better  than  we  do  now;  when  you 
have  been  here  a  little  longer,  then  I  will  go  and 
see  your  parents  and  try  to  tell  them  the  truth 
as  far  as  I  see  and  understand  it." 

We  sat  a  little  longer  in  the  still  oak  circle. 
While  we  were  there  we  did  not  speak.  But  as 
we  walked  homewards  I  spoke  of  an  idea  which 
was  slowly  shaping  itself  in  my  mind. 

The  sight  of  the  boy,  with  his  illuminated 
face,  and  the  hearing  of  his  strange  words,  re- 


RENE  47 

minded  me  of  the  legends  of  those  saints  of  the 
desert,  who,  caught  into  the  embrace  of  God  in 
deep  contemplation,  had  yet  woven  with  their 
hands  palm  mats,  which  they  sold,  less  to  supply 
their  own  small  needs  than  to  fulfil  the  duty  of 
almsgiving  to  the  poor. 

"Rene,"  I  said,  "do  you  think  you  could  do 
manual  work?" 

"If  I  did  not  have  to  think  about  it  very 
much,  I  think  I  could,"  he  replied. 

"Do  you  remember  the  little  garden  of  the 
Holy  Child?" 

"Quite  well,"  he  answered.  "Yesterday  I 
went  in  there,  and  I  remembered  it  at  once." 

"Could  you  keep  the  grass  cut,  and  the  hedges 
clipped  in  that  garden?  We  have  a  gardener, 
and  he  would  show  you  what  you  must  do.  He 
needs  help ;  many  of  those  in  the  'house  of  peace' 
work  in  the  gardens  in  their  spare  time.  Would 
you  take  care  of  that  little  garden?" 

He  assented,  and  seemed  to  be  pleased.  The 
next  day  I  moved  him  from  the  guest-house  to 
the  House  of  Peace.  He  fell  into  the  quiet  life 


48  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

there  readily  and  naturally.  Those  in  that 
house,  though  unvowed,  are  bound  by  some  few 
and  simple  rules,  more  especially  of  silence. 

I  did  not  tell  Rene  of  those  rules.  He  pre- 
served silence  by  reason  of  that  invisible  con- 
straint which  held  him.  He  glided  in  and  out  of 
the  still  house  as  though  it  were  his  natural  home 
and  abiding-place.  He  worked  in  the  garden 
day  by  day,  and  his  face  grew  more  and  more 
luminous  with  a  kind  of  inner  rapture.  "De- 
spised and  rejected  of  men,"  he  seemed  to  have 
found  his  haven  of  waiting.  I  use  those  words 
"haven  of  waiting"  designedly ;  I  was  persuaded 
then,  and  I  know  now,  that  my  duty  to  God  was 
to  provide  that  haven,  where  a  chosen  vessel 
might  wait  till  the  appointed  hour;  might  wait, 
hidden  then  as  now,  till  the  storm  burst  and  the 
Day  of  the  Lord  declared  itself. 

The  silent  work  of  God !  The  silent,  veiled 
workers  in  His  Vineyard !  How  little  we  know 
of  either,  and  how  little  we  heed  them!  The 
Eternal  Sacrifice  goes  on ;  the  sacrificial  cups  are 
brimmed  and  poured  out  to  His  Glory,  and  we, 


RENE  49 

knowing  nothing  of  the  heart  of  things,  pursue 
our  shadow-tasks  and  say,  "See  how  our  works 
endure." 

There  is  a  man  in  our  house  of  peace  named 
Gereth  Fenton.  God  has  given  him  a  gift.  He 
has  a  power  of  intercessory  prayer  which  has, 
ere  now,  wrought  miracles  in  souls  and  bodies. 
He  had  lived  in  our  house  here  for  fifteen  or  six- 
teen years  when  Rene  Clinton  came  to  live  un- 
der the  same  roof. 

I  saw  there  was  an  instant  unspoken  recogni- 
tion of  each  other  between  these  two.  They 
said  nothing;  but  somewhat  which  lay  beyond 
speech  met,  and  metaphorically  clasped  hands. 
They  were  comrades. 

Fenton  works  a  good  deal  in  the  garden  in  his 
spare  time. 

He  was  working  there  one  day  when  I  passed 
by;  he  was  cutting  the  grass  near  the  garden  of 
the  Holy  Child.  At  the  same  moment  I  saw 
Rene.  He  was  standing  on  a  low  step-ladder 
clipping  the  box  hedge ;  I  could  smell  the  pun- 
gent scent  of  the  severed  boughs. 


fo  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

I  paused  by  Fenton. 

"Gereth,"  said  I,  "do  you  know  Rene  Clinton 
is  'a  case  of  arrested  development'  *?" 

Our  eyes  met;  and  we  both  smiled.  Finally 
Fenton  said : 

"It  is  a  case  of  a  crystal  cup  for  Living  Water, 
Father  Anthony." 

I  nodded ;  and  passed  on  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  VI 

rMRS.   CLINTON  ASSERTS   HERSELF 

THE  month  of  Rene's  probation  at  Brent  ended 
early  in  June.  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Clinton  saying  I 
was  obliged  to  come  to  town  on  business  during 
the  first  week  of  August.  I  said  I  wished  to  see 
her  and  Mr.  Clinton,  and  to  speak  with  them 
concerning  their  son;  in  the  meantime  I  should 
be  very  glad  for  him  to  remain  at  Brent  as  a 
guest. 

I  received  a  letter  from  her,  and  also  one  from 
Clinton.  They  said,  as  I  expected  them  to  do, 
that  they  would  be  in  the  country,  but  would 
come  up  to  town  to  meet  me. 

I  went  to  their  house  on  the  day  they  ap- 
pointed. It  was  a  large  house ;  it  was  rilled  with 
the  beautiful  superfluities  with  which  rich  peo- 
ple, possessed  of  artistic  discrimination,  burden 
themselves. 

Si 


52  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

Mrs.  Clinton  was  occupied  in  some  kind  of 
elaborate  fancy  work.  Her  daughter  Margaret 
was  with  her.  She  was  a  very  handsome,  grace- 
ful girl ;  she  certainly  looked  very  vigorous  and 
intellectual.  She  knew,  of  course,  the  object  of 
my  visit ;  her  mother  was  obviously  nervous  and 
acutely  anxious.  Margaret  took  command  of 
the  situation ;  she  talked  with  me  easily  and  nat- 
urally, so  that  her  mother  could  maintain  si- 
lence; and  almost  immediately  after  her  fa- 
ther's entrance  she  slipped  unobtrusively  into 
the  conservatory  and  vanished.  I  realised  how 
intensely  painful  to  Clinton  must  be  the  con- 
trast between  this  capable  and  self-possessed  girl 
and  the  boy  on  whom  he  had  built  such  hopes. 
He  was  very  courteous  in  his  manner  to  me, 
though  rather  ceremonious.  I  guessed  the  cour- 
tesy and  ceremony  veiled  an  intense  annoyance ; 
springing,  not  from  antagonism  to  me,  but  from 
wounded  pride. 

He  hated  to  feel  that  Rene  was  with  me  at 
Brent.  He  yielded  to  his  wife  in  the  matter; 
partly  because  he  loved  her,  and  desired  to  miti- 


MRS.  CLINTON  ASSERTS  HERSELF    53 

gate  her  pain,  though  in  doing  so  he  increased 
his  own;  partly  because  he  was  just;  he  recog- 
nised her  rights  in  the  child  she  bore  and  reared ; 
and  he  recognised,  too,  that  he  owed  much  to  her 
wealth  and  her  social  tact. 

But  he  would  rather  Rene  had  been  with 
a  little  known  physician  in  a  quiet  country 
place,  and  one  among  two  or  three  "border- 
land cases"  calling  for  no  remark,  and  ex- 
citing no  special  interest.  A  great  many  people 
come  to  Brent.  Many  of  them  know  Clinton 
personally.  All  know  him  by  repute.  He 
felt  that  at  Brent  Rene's  "deficiency"  was  kept 
before  the  public  eye.  However,  his  words 
showed  he  expected  this  annoyance  was  about 
to  end. 

"I  told  my  wife,  Father  Standish,"  he  said, 
"that  we  have  been  most  selfish  and  incon- 
siderate towards  you." 

"In  what  way,  Mr.  Clinton*?"  I  asked. 

"Brent  is  obviously  not  the  proper  place  for 
Rene,"  he  answered.  "We  place  you  in  the 
unpleasant  position  of  having  to  tell  us  so.'* 


54  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"But  Brent  is  precisely  the  place  where  your 
son  ought  to  be,"  I  replied. 

I  saw  Mrs.  Clinton  twist  her  elaborate  work 
into  a  bundle,  and  toss  it  into  a  basket  with 
a  reckless  hand. 

"Ah!"  said  Clinton. 

He  put  up  his  eyebrows  in  a  startled  fash- 
ion. Then  he  fitted  his  finger-tips  together 
judicially,  and  prepared  to  listen,  analyse  and 
detect  flaws  in  my  discourse. 

For  he  saw  I  was  going  to  discourse,  and  pre- 
pared himself  with  the  stolid  resignation  with 
which  some  men  brace  themselves  in  their  pews 
when  the  text  is  given  out. 

"Your  son  is  not  in  the  guest-house  now,"  I 
said.  "I  ought  to  tell  you  that.  I  hope  you 
will  not  disapprove  of  the  arrangement  I  have 
made." 

I  thought  he  looked  relieved,  and  rather 
pleased. 

"Certainly  not,"  he  said.  "I  feel  sure  we 
shall  approve  of  anything  you  have  seen  fit  to 


MRS.  CLINTON  ASSERTS  HERSELF    55 

do.  I  can  well  understand  that  with  your  other 
guests " 

Mrs.  Clinton  broke  in: 

"Father  Standish,"  she  said,  "where  is 
Rene?' 

"He  is  in  the  other  house,  Mrs.  Clinton,"  I 
answered  placidly. 

It  was  rather  wicked  of  me.  I  am  afraid 
I  enjoyed  launching  a  thunderbolt  at  Clinton. 

"The  other " 

"The  House  of  Peace,"  I  said. 

"But  that  is  for— for " 

"For  people  who  have  special  and  definite 
vocation,"  said  I.  "Precisely!  That  is  why 
I  have  put  him  there." 

She  leaned  forward  breathlessly.  Her  eyes 
were  swimming  with  tears. 

"O  tell  us!  tell  us!"  she  sobbed. 

"Theresa,  my  dear,"  said  Clinton,  rather 
irritably,  "surely  it  is  a  pity  to  give  way  to 
emotion.  The  matter  is  so  exquisitely  painful 
to  both  of  us,  as  Father  Standish  will  under- 
stand, that  I  feel  we  need  to  guard  against 


56  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

natural  emotion,  and  try  to  judge  the  whole 
distressing  question  reasonably  and  imperson- 
ally." 

Then  he  turned  to  me. 

"I  am,  of  course,  very  anxious  to  hear  your 
view,  Father  Standish,"  he  said  politely. 

"I  think  I  understood  from  Mrs.  Clinton," 
said  I,  "that  the  most  distinguished  amongst 
the  physicians  you  have  consulted  were  frankly 
puzzled  by  your  son's  case?" 

"Yes." 

"They  declined  to  diagnose.  They  said  they 
had  seen  no  case  like  it,  and  had  no  data  upon 
which  to  go?" 

"That  is  true." 

"The  lesser  authorities  also  admitted  they 
had  never  encountered  such  a  case?" 

"They  did." 

"But  they  were  rather  more  dogmatic. 
They  did  diagnose.  They  thought  the  de- 
velopment of  the  brain  must  have  been  ar- 
rested." 


MRS.  CLINTON  ASSERTS  HERSELF    57 

"That  is  what  they  said  must  have  hap- 
pened." 

"  Tools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread/  " 
I  said.  "That  is  my  own  case.  For  I  am  going 
to  diagnose." 

"Have  you  special  medical  knowledge, 
Father  Standish?"  said  Clinton,  suavely.  But 
there  was  an  edge  in  his  voice,  as  though  he 
felt  instinctively  I  was  about  to  say  something 
he  would  oppose. 

"None,"  said  I.  "But  I've  had  some  little 
experience  along  other  lines." 

He  bowed,  and  became  attentive. 

"So  far  from  your  son's  brain  being  under- 
developed," I  went  on,  "I  believe  it  is  ultra- 
developed.  I  believe  it  is  an  instrument  more 
delicately  fashioned  and  more  truly  balanced 
than  those  of  his  contemporaries.  It  is  a 
brain  and  nervous  system  in  advance  of  his 
age.  It  is  abnormal  indeed — abnormally 
healthy  and  sane,  or  it  could  not  sustain  the 
strain  of  the  prodigious  spiritual  energy  which 
has  been  brought  to  bear  upon  it.  It  is  a  case 


58  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

of  an  exceptionally  pure,  healthy  and  stable 
body,  brain  and  nervous  system." 

"You  do  not  seriously  maintain  this,  Father 
Standish?"  said  Clinton  slowly. 

"Your  son,"  I  continued,  "is  in  touch  with 
a  tremendous  Reality;  with  a  Reality  so  great, 
so  overpowering  in  its  claims,  so  insistent  in 
its  demands,  that  he  is  incapable  of  answering 
any  lesser  claims  or  demands." 

"Do  you  mean,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Clinton,  "do 
you  mean — God*?" 

"My  dear  Theresa!"  said  Clinton. 

He  seemed  to  feel  she  had  been  guilty  of  a 
breach  of  good  taste.  It  was  almost  as  though 
she  had  tactlessly  introduced  the  name  of  an 
undesirable  acquaintance. 

"I  do  mean  that,"  I  said  quietly.  "The 
same  Power  which  said,  'Go  thy  way,  for  he 
is  a  chosen  vessel  unto  me,'  has  spoken  to  you 
through  Rene,  if  you  would  hear  His  Voice." 

"The  White  Island?"  said  Clinton  in  a  low 
voice  of  intense  contempt.  "Are  we  to  under- 
stand— er " 


MRS.  CLINTON  ASSERTS  HERSELF    59 

"When  the  intensity  of  the  Touch  of  that 
unseen  Power  becomes  intolerable,"  said  I 
steadily,  "when  the  thirst  of  the  soul  is  such 
that  it  becomes  an  imperative  need,  it  should 
be  in  some  measure  relieved,  if  it  cannot  be 
quenched ;  then  it  is  sometimes  able  to  share 
imperfectly  in  the  abiding  knowledge  of  the 
spirit;  it  becomes  aware  of  something  which 
it  can  express,  imperfectly  it  is  true,  in  earthly 
terms." 

"But  you  do  not  think,"  said  Mrs.  Clinton, 
"he  really  goes  to — to — an  island?" 

I  smiled. 

"Mrs.  Clinton,"  I  answered,  "if  I  dream 
I  am  walking  through  the  Forest  in  deep  snow, 
I  see  the  snow,  I  hear  the  cracking  of  the 
branches,  I  feel  the  cold.  Then  I  wake.  The 
wind  has  shifted  to  the  east.  It  blows  strongly 
in  at  my  window.  I  am  cold.  As  cold  as 
snow  could  make  me.  That  cold  is  a  reality. 
My  dream  is  my  own  expression  of  the  reality 
which  has  touched  me.  In  dealing  with  visions 
I  think  people  make  two  errors.  They  either 


60  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

take  the  picture  the  mind  has  formed  for  the 
Reality  which  inspired  it;  or,  in  rejecting  the 
picture  as  untrue  and  fallible,  they  also  reject 
the  Inspiration  which  may  be  truth  and  infalli- 
bility itself." 

I  ought  to  say  here  that  I  am  not  a  man  of 
visions.  I  have  had  but  one  vision  in  my  life; 
and  I  shall  describe  it  later.  I  lived  for  sixty- 
one  years  without  visions  till  that  experience 
came  to  me. 

My  friend,  David  Alison,  is  a  man  of  knowl- 
edge in  these  strange  matters.  I  know  him 
to  be  sane  and  truthful;  therefore  I  take  his 
word  for  it  that  things  unknown  to  me  are 
possibilities.  Alison  says  my  explanation  of 
Rene's  childish  vision  of  the  "White  Island" 
is,  in  his  view,  correct. 

But  he  also  says  "visions"  are  varied  in  source 
and  nature,  and  may  not  be  classified  under 
one  heading. 

Nor,  being  a  very  free-thinking  person,  is 
he  wholly  satisfied  by  the  explanations  given 


MRS.  CLINTON  ASSERTS  HERSELF    61 

by  great  mystics  and  ecstatics,  and  the  classifica- 
tions of  S.  Teresa. 

Alison  holds  that  my  vision,  which  I  shall 
tell  later,  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  a  vision 
at  all,  but  simply  an  exaltation  of  the  physical 
senses,  so  that  I  saw  as  we  shall  see  when  we 
"rise  glorious,"  or  are  "caught  up  to  meet 
the  Lord  in  the  air." 

In  other  words,  he  believes  that  what  I 
saw  is  ever  about  us  as  a  concrete  fact,  and 
not  as  an  image  of  the  mind;  that  I  saw,  in 
effect,  the  subtler  reaches  of  that  divine  mys- 
tery, the  material  world,  under  different  con- 
ditions of  space  and  time. 

Alison  holds  matter  to  be  as  holy  and  glorious 
as  spirit.  So  that  when  he  speaks  of  anything 
as  being  "material"  he  intends  no  lowering 
of  its  holiness  and  worth.  Nor  does  he  neces- 
sarily mean  that  a  thing  is  holy  when  he  speaks 
of  it  as  being  spiritual.  For,  as  he  says,  we 
have  the  authority  of  the  Apostle  to  the  Gentiles 
that  this  is  not  so;  and  one  whose  experience 
and  history  were  as  astounding  as  those  of  S. 


62  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

Paul  has  a  right  to  be  listened  to,  apart  from 
all  question  of  inspiration.  Thus  far  Alison—- 
I  return  to  my  tale. 

"I  fear,"  said  Clinton,  acidly,  "I  am  at  a 
disadvantage.  I  am  so  lamentably  ignorant  of 
these  matters."  (It  would  be  impossible  to 
describe  the  superiority  and  rejoicing  pride  with 
which  he  made  this  humble  statement.)  "I 
really  know  nothing  save  of  facts  as  they  are; 
of  things  which  are  real." 

Mrs.  Clinton  gave  an  unsteady  laugh ;  it  was 
evident  her  nervous  tension  was  increasing. 
She  pressed  her  hands  together,  and  her  eyes 
gleamed. 

"I  amuse  you,  Theresa*?"  said  Clinton, 
severely. 

"I  think  Father  Standish  would  say  we  know 
nothing  of  facts  as  they  are,  nor  of  things  which 
are  real;  and  hence  our  opinions  are  not  worth 
having." 

"Mrs.  Clinton,"  said  I,  "you  have  put  some 
very  discourteous  and  sweeping  statements  into 
my  mouth." 


MRS.  CLINTON  ASSERTS  HERSELF    63 

Clinton  made  no  comment  upon  his  wife's 
words.  His  lips  set  a  little  harder.  I  could 
see  he  was  much  displeased,  and  with  some 
reason. 

"Since  I  am  ignorant,"  he  said,  "I  have  per- 
haps no  right  to  speak.  Nevertheless  I  hold 
we  have  no  means  of  knowledge  save  that  of 
experience  through  the  senses  and  by  the  exer- 
cise of  the  reason.  To  me  there  is  no  evidence 
that  your  theory  is  more  than  the  weaving  of 
imagination.  You  will  not,  I  hope,  think  me 
lacking  in  courtesy  if  I  say  this." 

"By  no  means,"  I  said.  "It  is  a  very  natural 
view  for  you  to  take." 

"I  am  grateful  to  you,  Father  Standish," 
went  on  Clinton.  "Exceedingly  grateful !  Do 
not  doubt  that.  But  I  so  entirely  disagree 
with  you,  I  so  entirely  deny  the  soundness  of 
your  conclusions,  that  I  feel  Rene  ought  not 
to  remain  at  Brent." 

I  was  prepared  for  that.  I  thought  and 
prayed  much  before  I  decided  to  speak.  But 
I  was  sure  I  was  not  justified  in  concealing  my 


64  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

view ;  and  I  was  pledged  to  Rene  to  try  whether 
I  could  explain  his  condition  to  his  parents.  I 
was,  moreover,  quite  sure  he  was  in  the  Hands 
of  One  Who  would  do  with  him  according  to 
His  Will. 

"That  is,  of  course,  for  you  to  decide,"  I  said 
gently.  "I  have  told  you  my  view.  Rene  is 
living  in  great  peace  and  contentment  at  Brent, 
and  he  is  doing  useful  work  in  the  garden.  I 
find  he  can  do  simple  manual  work  in  spite  of 
his  intense  absorption.  But  whether  he  re- 
mains where  he  is  or  not,  is  for  you  to  decide." 

"Certainly,"  said  Clinton.  "I  feel  I  must 
decide  to  remove  him." 

Then  Mrs.  Clinton  rose.  She  was  a  hand- 
some, dignified  woman,  as  I  have  said;  but  at 
that  moment  she  was  transfigured  into  a  maj- 
esty of  passion  that,  I  think,  startled  her  hus- 
band, as  it  startled  me. 

"It  is  not  for  you  to  decide!"  she  cried  in 
a  voice  that  thrilled  with  passionate  command. 
Her  eyes  were  stern,  her  whole  figure  dilated. 
"It  is  not  for  me,  either.  It  is  decided,  and  not 


MRS.  CLINTON  ASSERTS  HERSELF    65 

by  us!  Who  are  we  to  decide"?  Who  are 
you?  Who  am  I"?  What  is  our  life,  our  work, 
our  use  in  the  world?  We  dress  up  our  per- 
sonal desires  and  worldly  ambitions  in  fine 
phrases,  you  and  I!  We  talk  of  our  social 
service,  our  patriotism,  our  additions  to  the  sum 
of  human  knowledge.  Is  there  any  real  prob- 
lem of  life  or  death  you  and  I  can  solve? 
Could  we  help  our  own  child  in  his  need  as 
Father  Standish  has  done?  Who  is  the  more 
likely  to  be  right — you  and  I  who  only  live 
for  this  world,  its  cares,  its  needs,  its  petty  hates, 
and  pettier  loves,  or  this  man  who  only  lives  for 
God  and  His  Life  in  his  neighbour?  It  is  not 
for  you  to  decide  for  my  child.  And  you  shall 
not  decide  it !  At  your  peril  you  decide  it !" 


CHAPTER  VII 

ANDERSON'S  MONGREL 

THERE  was  a  hush  in  the  great  luxuriously 
furnished  room  after  Mrs.  Clinton  had  spoken. 
The  distant  rumble  of  the  London  streets 
seemed  to  make  the  quiet  more  apparent.  It 
was  as  though  a  great  tide  of  power  had  rushed 
through  the  room,  and,  sweeping  away  all  op- 
position, left  silence  behind  it. 

Mrs.  Clinton  sat  down  and  took  the 
crumpled  work  out  of  the  basket  into  which  she 
had  flung  it.  Her  hand  was  shaking. 

Presently  Clinton  spoke.  He  spoke  with 
dignity  and  quietude  of  manner. 

"I  did  not  know,  Theresa,"  he  said,  "you 
took  so  unfavourable  a  view  of  the  result  of 
my  well-meaning  efforts.  I  am  quite  aware 
I  cannot  solve  the  problems  of  life  and  death. 
I  never  pretended  to  do  so.  Nor,  with  all 

66 


ANDERSON'S  MONGREL          67 

respect  to  Father  Standish,  do  I  think  any  one 
else  has,  or  is  likely  to  do  so.  That  is  beside 
the  question.  I  fully  grant  you  have  a  right 
to  have  a  voice  with  regard  to  Rene.  I  have 
always  done  so.  I  have  never  unfairly  im- 
posed my  will  on  yours,  nor  claimed  more  than 
my  due  share  of  authority  over  our  children." 

She  did  not  answer  him.  For  the  moment 
he  had  the  advantage  of  her;  his  manner  was 
calm,  his  words  just  and  right.  I  think  she 
was  a  little  ashamed  of  the  passion  she  had 
shown;  of  the  lifting  of  the  conventional  veil 
from  the  real  woman  beneath  it. 

"Father  Standish,"  said  Clinton,  "we  owe 
you  an  apology.  You  have  been  kindness 
itself.  We  ought  to  apologise,  not  only  for 
an  apparent  ingratitude  on  my  part,  but  for  an 
unedifying  scene.  If  you  are  good  enough  to 
keep  Rene  at  Brent,  and  my  wife  desires  this, 
I  withdraw  all  opposition  to  the  plan.  I  do 
not  agree  with  you.  But  it  is  only  opinion 
against  opinion.  There's  no  proof  either  way ; 
though  I  think  the  evidence  is  on  my  side.  I 


68  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

leave  Rene  in  my  wife's  hands  and  yours.  I 
must  go  now.  I  have  an  appointment.  You 
will  stay  a  little  longer,  will  you  not?  My 
wife  will  want  more  news  of  Rene,  I  know." 

He  shook  hands  and  went  away.  I  think  he 
certainly  behaved  extremely  well.  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton looked  up  at  me.  There  were  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"Perhaps  I  spoke  too  strongly,"  she  said.  "I 
fear  I  did.  But  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of 
Rene  leaving  you.  I  felt  desperate.  It  is 
wonderful  to  me  that  you  should  learn  from 
him  what  neither  his  father,  nor  I,  nor  the  doc- 
tors could  learn.  Do  you  say  he  is  happy  and 
at  work  in  the  garden?  Has  he  talked  to  you 
of  these  things?  He  never  seemed  to  be  able 
to  talk  freely  nor  coherently  to  us.  I  suppose 
it  is  a  kind  of  spiritual  freemasonry." 

I  talked  awhile  with  the  poor  anxious  mother; 
and  I  returned  to  Brent  the  next  day. 

The  harvest  was  garnered  early  at  Brent  in 
the  autumn  of  1913.  It  was  the  last  harvest 
my  dear  son  Jesse  Cameron  reaped.  He  man- 


ANDERSON'S  MONGREL  69 

aged  the  farm  for  me  till  he  left  me  a  year 
later.  He  reaps  no  earthly  harvests  more;  but 
I  think  he  has  store  of  sheaves  otherwhere. 
They  were  stacking  the  corn  as  the  reaping- 
machine  cast  the  sheaves  forth.  The  long 
shadows  lay  athwart  the  stubble.  I  saw  Rene 
in  the  harvest  field.  I  went  to  him  and  told 
him  I  had  seen  his  parents,  and  satisfied  them 
concerning  him  as  far  as  I  could. 

He  listened  quietly,  thanked  me,  and  said  he 
was  very  glad  and  grateful.  He  stood  there 
staring  dreamily  at  the  sheaf-stackers.  The 
scene  made  me  think  of  some  lines  I  once  read. 
They  were  a  recluse's  song,  the  work  of  a  writer 
of  no  note.  I  repeated  them  to  Rene: 

"The  little  leaves  unfolding  on  the  tree 
Beneath  my  window,  clap  their  hands  to  Thee; 
Softly  a-flutter  through  the  purple  hours 
Of  midnight  stillness ;  while  the  milk-white  flow'rs 
Of  yon  night-blooming  bush  send  sweetness  up, 
Till  voiceless  songs  to  Thee  fill  my  heart's  cup. 
The  list'ning  air  is  hanging  round  the  eaves 
To  hear  my  song  to  Thee,  beloved  One; 
As  in  the  fields  they  bind  the  golden  sheaves, 
So  garner  me  and  hide  me  in  Thy  Heart. 


70  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

Thy  hidden  Heart  is  changeless ;  from  Its  peace 
Perfume  of  myrrh  and  spices  flow. 
Lord,  cause  their  holy  incense  to  increase 
Within  this  bitter  heart,  that  I  may  know 
The  secret  fountain  whence  my  life  doth  flow." 

Rene  listened. 

"I  think  I  shall  remember  them,"  he  said. 
"I  never  am  sure  what  I  shall  remember  and 
what  I  shan't.  It  is  not  in  my  choice,  appar- 
ently. I  suppose  that  is  because  I  do  not  really 
know  what  is  worth  remembering  and  what  is 
not." 

"I  should  suppose  that  practically  none  of 
us  does,"  I  answered. 

Alison  met  me  as  I  crossed  the  fields  towards 
the  gardens. 

"A  queer  thing  has  happened  in  your  absence, 
Father  Anthony,"  said  he.  "Do  you  remem- 
ber the  story  of  John  of  the  Desert  and 
the  tigress?" 

"I  do  not  think  I  do,"  I  replied. 

"John  was  a  little  monk  who  belonged  to 
a  Laura  in  the  desert,"  said  Alison.  "There 
was  a  tigress  who  seriously  interfered  with  the 


ANDERSON'S  MONGREL          71 

comfort  of  the  brethren.  The  prior,  desiring  to 
test  John's  obedience,  told  him  to  bring  to  him 
the  aggressive  beast." 

"Well?"  I  asked. 

"John,  armed  with  a  palm-leaf  rope,  went 
in  search  of  the  tigress,  and  led  her  back  in  tri- 
umph to  the  prior,  to  his  extreme  dismay." 

"Why  do  you  tell  me  that  story,  David?" 
I  asked. 

"Because  of  what  happened  yesterday,"  he 
replied.  "It  made  me  think  of  S.  Francis  and 
the  wolf." 

"What  was  it?" 

"You  know  that  savage  mongrel  of  Ander- 
son's. He  generally  keeps  it  on  the  chain,  and 
he  is  the  only  person  who  can  go  near  the  brute. 
It  broke  loose;  his  cottage  in  the  village  was 
locked  up,  and  he  was  away  in  Lexminster. 
The  dog  went  hunting  in  the  One  Holly  woods 
where  they  set  steel  traps  for  the  rabbits,  and 
tore  through  the  gardens  here  on  three  legs, 
howling,  with  the  teeth  of  the  trap  fast  in  his 
paw.  The  dog  was  half  mad  with  pain  and 


72  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

terror;  I  suppose  he  tore  up  here  looking  for 
Anderson.  He  lay  down  (he's  a  huge  beast, 
you  know)  exhausted,  dripping  with  blood, 
panting  and  snarling.  No  one  cared  to  touch 
him.  Anderson  was  away,  and  I  don't  know 
where  Cameron  was.  Rene  came  mooning 
through  the  garden,  and  became  aware  of  the 
dog.  He  walked  up  to  him ;  he  was,  of  course, 
a  perfect  stranger  to  the  beast.  'Look  out,  Clin- 
ton !'  I  said.  'Don't  touch  him,  sir,'  said  one  of 
the  men.  'He  ain't  safe  any  time,  and  he's  half 
mad  now.'  Rene  didn't  seem  to  hear.  He 
knelt  down,  took  the  dog's  leg  in  hie  hands, 
opened  the  trap,  released  the  paw,  examined  it 
a  little  to  see  whether  the  bone  was  broken, 
laid  his  hand  on  the  beast  and  'gentled'  him 
all  down  his  back,  flung  the  trap  into  a  bush, 
and  walked  away  as  though  he  was  in  a  brown 
study.  The  dog  snarled  at  us  like  a  demon, 
and  limped  back  to  the  village.  The  men 
gasped  silently,  save  one  who  remarked,  Tm 
Wowed!'" 


ANDERSON'S  MONGREL  73 

I  smiled.  Alison  said:  "Why  do  you 
smile?" 

"I  was  wondering  what  theory  Mr.  Clinton 
would  have  evolved  if  he  had  been  present," 
I  answered.  "What  would  his  reason  have 
manufactured  from  the  evidence  of  his  senses 
to  account  for  it?  It  would  be  vain  to  tell  him 
the  story.  He  would  not  believe  it." 

Nevertheless  I  told  it  in  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Clinton.  She  wrote  in  reply : 

"I  believe  it  on  your  word ;  but  I  understand 
nothing.  What  is  the  purpose  of  this  strange 
dealing?  It  causes  bitter  pain,  and  seems  to 
waste  a  life  which  might  be  of  service.  What 
is  the  use  of  it,  Father  Standish?  What  is 
being  done?  It  seems  sheer  waste.  Forgive 
me  if  I  blaspheme." 

I  wrote  in  answer: 

"You  have  asked  me  a  question  I  cannot 
answer.  If  I  ever  can  answer  it  I  will  do  so. 
There  must  come  a  day  when  we  shall  see  what 
was  done.  If  I  ever  see  it  in  this  life  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  see." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   LITTLE  BRETHREN 

I  WAS  not  surprised  by  that  question  of  Mrs. 
Clinton's.  "What  is  the  use  of  it?  What  is 
being  done?" 

There  are  many  records  of  human  lives 
caught  into  close  union  with  God.  But  such 
lives  have  not  been  ineffective  in  action.  Mys- 
tics— and  also  ecstatics — have  been  fruitful  of 
thought.  They  have  not  always  been  able  to 
express  in  words  their  highest  flights;  but  on 
the  whole  they  have  had  an  astonishing  power 
of  expressing  experiences  which  transcend  those 
of  the  normal  mind.  Many  were  learned  in 
theology.  They  were  voluminous  writers,  and 
eloquent  preachers.  For  example,  we  have  the 
writings  of  S.  John  of  the  Cross,  Ruysbroek, 
Tauler,  and  Angela  of  Foligno.  WTe  have  the 
wisdom  of  Julian  of  Norwich,  the  keen  psycho- 

74 


THE  LITTLE  BRETHREN        75 

logical  insight  of  S.  Teresa;  the  "Dialogues" 
of  that  Catherine  who  swayed  the  course  of  his- 
tory by  her  will  and  intellect. 

If  some  modern  critics  have  suspected  them 
of  delusion  and  hysteria,  no  one  has  called  them 
half-witted  or  ineffective  in  action.  They  pro- 
duced mighty  effects  on  their  age :  effects  which 
have  reached  down  to  the  present  day. 

But  in  Rene  Clinton  there  was  nothing  of 
this.  He  had  no  revelations ;  his  mind  seemed 
to  be  preoccupied. 

Nor  was  he  outwardly  very  devout.  He 
came  frequently  to  Mass.  He  made  his  Com- 
munion once  a  month.  But  he  was  rarely  in 
the  chapel  at  other  times.  He  could  not  medi- 
tate. He  could  not  use  intercessory  prayer, 
save  in  the  brief  simple  words  of  a  child;  and 
with  no  fervour  of  mind  or  heart.  He  read 
next  to  nothing;  if  he  tried  to  do  so,  he  either 
became  abstracted  and  unable  to  comprehend 
the  words,  or  he  went  to  sleep.  His  strange 
condition  of  absorption  bore  no  visible  fruit. 

He  spent  much  time  out  of  doors.     I  never 


76  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

interfered  with  his  coming  and  going.  Very 
often  he  slept  in  the  Forest ;  he  was  particularly 
fond  of  sleeping  in  the  great  circle  of  dead  oaks. 
Alison  sympathised  with  him  in  this;  for  he  too 
is  fond  of  sleeping  under  the  sky. 

I  think  every  one — save  Gereth  Fenton — 
was  surprised  that  he  lived  in  the  House  of 
Peace. 

But  there  were  certain  things  about  him 
which  all  noted,  which  caused  them  to  think 
him  remarkable. 

The  incident  of  the  dog,  for  example,  did 
not  stand  alone.  No  wild  creatures  were  afraid 
of  Rene.  I  am  aware  that  this  has  been  no- 
ticed in  the  case  of  some  people  of  weak  intel- 
lect. 

I  have  seen  birds,  not  robins  or  sparrows 
which  are  easily  tamed,  but  a  shy  bird  like  a 
wood-pigeon,  fly  down  from  a  tree  and  light  on 
his  shoulder  as  he  gardened. 

In  the  summer  of  1913  I  was  standing  on 
a  heather-covered  barrow  in  the  open  Forest, 
from  which  I  could  see  rabbits  playing  in  a 


THE  LITTLE  BRETHREN        77 

warren.  Rene  walked  through  the  warren;  no 
rabbit  ran  away.  He  stooped,  picked  up  a 
young  one,  and  looked  at  it. 

The  little  thing  did  not  struggle.  When  he 
set  it  down  it  skipped  happily  about  his  feet. 

Alison  told  me  he  met  him  in  the  Forest 
carrying  a  fox-cub ;  the  vixen  trotted  beside  him 
like  a  dog,  quite  untroubled.  She  scented  Ali- 
son and  bolted;  Rene  set  the  cub  down  to  run 
after  her,  which  it  did  with  speed. 

Once,  in  the  early  spring  of  1914,  when  the 
Forest  was  full  of  primroses,  Alison  and  he 
walked  to  the  oak  circle  together.  It  was  warm 
and  sunny.  On  the  fallen  oak  there  lay,  sun- 
ning itself,  a  little  shiny  brown  snake. 

"That's  an  adder,"  said  Alison,  and  looked 
for  a  stick. 

Refore  he  found  one,  Rene  picked  the  thing 
up.  It  writhed  round  his  wrist  but  did  not 
bite  him.  He  uncoiled  it,  laid  it  on  the 
heather,  and  it  slipped  away. 

"Don't  kill  it,"  said  Rene,  "it  likes  to  live." 

Fear,  twin  brother  of  Hate,  fled  before  him, 


78  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

He  brought  with  him  the  peace  of  the  City  of 
God. 

We  never  discussed  these  things  at  Brent. 
We  rarely  mentioned  them  among  ourselves; 
whenever  we  did  so  it  was  but  by  a  passing 
reference.  Outside  Brent  we  never  spoke  of 
them  at  all.  We  have  an  unspoken,  unwritten 
law  which  forbids  it. 

We  were  content  to  wait.  We  were  not 
eager  to  understand.  The  sense  of  the  presence 
of  a  veiled  power  continually  at  work  is  so  fa- 
miliar to  many  in  this  place,  that  they  have 
ceased  to  be  eager  to  know  concerning  much 
which  is  real  and  ever-present,  but  not  visible 
nor  tangible. 

It  gave  me  at  times  a  sensation  partly  of 
surprise,  partly  of  amusement,  partly  of  sad- 
ness, when  I  heard  people  who  took  all  things 
at  their  obvious  or  face  value  speak  of  Rene. 
It  is  strange  how  many  there  be  who  take  their 
convictions  on  many  matters  from  carelessly 
uttered  words,  which  they  have  heard,  at  the 
time,  as  carelessly. 


THE  LITTLE  BRETHREN         79 

It  makes  me  wonder  whether  it  is  possible  to 
write  history,  even  contemporary  history,  cor- 
rectly. We  live  on  the  outside  of  things.  We 
have  no  measure  to  gauge  the  deeps  below  the 
surface.  We  do  not  know  a  tithe  of  what  is 
happening  in  our  very  presence. 

In  November  we  had  our  cottage  chrysanthe- 
mum show.  There  was  a  large  marquee  in  the 
vicarage  garden  to  hold  the  exhibits.  As  I 
walked  through  and  admired  the  bitter-smell- 
ing blooms,  I  met  Mrs.  Finch. 

She  is  the  wife  of  the  vicar  of  a  neighbour- 
ing parish;  she  has  many  excellent  qualities. 
But  she  has  not,  perhaps,  a  very  deep  insight 
into  life  and  character. 

Mrs.  Finch  said  to  me : 

"We  all  think  it  so  very  good  of  you,  Father 
Standish,  to  take  care  of  that  poor  half-witted 
young  man." 

"Who  is  that?"  I  asked. 

"Why !"  she  replied,  "this  poor  young  Clin- 
ton, of  course.  So  good  of  you!  Every  one 
says  so.  Every  one  is  talking  about  it!" 


80  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

I  made  an  attempt,  at  this  point,  to  procest 
against  erroneous  ideas.  Mrs.  Finch  thought  it 
was  an  attempt  inspired  by  my  modest  depreca- 
tion of  praise,  and  she  went  on  in  spile  of  me. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "I  am  always  sure 
it  is  a  direct  judgment  upon  Mr.  Clinton  for 
his  pride  of  intellect  and  neglect  of  religion." 

It  is  always  an  abounding  source  of  amaze- 
ment to  me  to  note  the  light-hearted  way  in 
which  many  good  people  refer  to  that  most 
awful  fact  of  the  judgments  of  God;  as  though 
we  were  in  any  way  capable  of  differentiating 
between  His  judgment  and  His  Mercy.  For 
I  cannot  but  think  that  much  which  we  call 
judgment  is  mercy,  and  those  things  we  hail  as 
mercy  are,  in  truth,  judgments. 

"Mr.  Clinton  never  went  to  church  when  they 
were  at  One  Holly,"  said  Mrs.  Finch. 

"Mrs.  Clinton  did,"  said  I,  "she  and  the 
children  came  regularly  to  Brent  church." 

"Mrs.  Clinton!  Yes,  poor  woman!  Lady 
Lansworthy  says  she  is  a  good  Churchwoman. 
But  her  husband  never  went,  I'm  told," 


THE  LITTLE  BRETHREN        81 

"But  the  judgment,  if  it  be  a  judgment,  falls 
just  as  heavily  on  her,  doesn't  it*?" 

"That  is  true ;  and  very  sad.  But  I  am  per- 
suaded I  am  right.  People  cannot  neglect  re- 
ligion with  impunity." 

"That  is  an  undoubted  fact,"  I  replied. 
"But  have  you  reflected  that  if  the  result  of 
non-attendance  at  church  is  to  have  half-witted 
sons,  the  larger  part  of  the  male  population 
of  England  would  be  mentally  deficient?" 

"Of  course  judgments  vary  in  their  nature," 
said  Mrs.  Finch,  with  great  decision.  "But 
now,  Father  Standish,  do  you  think  you  are 
entirely  wise?" 

"I  am  quite  sure  I  am  not,"  I  answered. 
"Why  do  you  suspect  me  of  such  a  vain-glorious 
delusion*?" 

"You  are  laughing  at  me,"  said  Mrs.  Finch. 
"It's  too  bad  of  you!  But,  seriously,  do  you 
think  it  safe  for  him  to  wander  about  in  the 
Forest"?  I  understand  he  sometimes  slept  out 
there  during  the  summer." 

"Why,  there's  nothing  to  hurt  him  in  the 


82  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

Forest,  unless  it's  an  adder,  or  an  occasional 
viper,"  said  I;  "and  they  do  not  constitute  a 
serious  danger,  for  any  one  who  is  moderately 
careful.  There  are  a  few  snakes  in  most  coun- 
try places  in  England.  I  don't  know  of  any- 
thing which  could  hurt  him." 

"Not  to  hurt  him!  But  suppose  he  hurt 
some  one  else." 

"Hurt  some  one  else !"  I  exclaimed.  I  really 
did  not  see  what  she  meant.  It  was  dull  of 
me. 

"You  can  never  tell  what  a  poor  afflicted 
creature  like  that  may  do,"  said  Mrs.  Finch. 
"He  might  suddenly  take  it  into  his  head  to  kill 
some  one." 

"He  might,  certainly,"  I  replied.  "So  might 
I.  So  might  you.  But  I  do  not  think  we 
shall,  do  you?" 

"O,  but  it  is  not  the  same!  A  half-witted 
person,  poor  creature!  is  never  to  be  depended 
upon." 

"True!"  said  I.""  "But  Re*ne  Clinton  is  not 
half-witted." 


THE  LITTLE  BRETHREN        83 

"Not!  O  Father  Standish!  Not?  You 
don't  mean  that,  surely*?" 

"I  certainly  do  mean  it,"  I  answered. 

"O,  but  surely  he  is!     They  all  say  so!" 

"They  are  all  wrong,"  I  replied,  "and  you 
may  tell  them  so  decisively  on  my  authority. 
But  I  must  not  discuss  the  matter.  I  never 
discuss  those  who  live  at  Brent,  you  know.  It 
is  against  my  rule." 


CHAPTER  IX 

WRECKAGE 

I  THINK  the  culmination  of  the  story  of  Rene 
will  be  more  easily  understood,  if  I  describe 
one  or  two  incidents  which  took  place  at  Brent 
during  the  winter  of  1913  and  onwards  till 
the  summer  of  1917,  when  the  culmination  to 
which  I  have  referred  was  witnessed  by  me. 
When  I  use  the  word  "culmination"  I  apply 
it  to  the  point  at  which  I  understood  the  whole 
matter  much  more  clearly.  For  of  course  his 
story  has  not  culminated  and  could  not  do  so. 
The  mystery  of  Rene  is  one  which  does  not 
change  and  therefore  cannot  culminate. 

I  will  now  select  two  or  three  things  which 
came  to  pass  during  the  period  I  have  men- 
tioned. I  will  set  them  down  in  order,  so  that 
the  nature  of  the  "strange  work"  may  be  bet- 
ter perceived. 

84 


WRECKAGE  85 

In  the  winter  of  the  year  in  which  Rene  came 
to  Brent,  that  is  to  say  in  November,  1913, 
a  man  was  brought  to  the  guest-house  who  was 
in  a  terrible  condition  of  mind  and  body. 

His  story  was  briefly  this: 

He  was  a  man  of  good  birth  and  education, 
and  some  means.  He  was  brought  up  by  his 
mother,  who  was  a  widow,  as  a  strict  Calvinist. 
There  was  a  strong  affection  between  her  and 
her  child,  but  very  little  understanding  on  her 
side.  She  never  guessed  how  her  religious 
teaching  at  once  impressed  and  terrified  his 
imagination,  till  it  was  a  real  blight  upon  his 
soul.  He  broke  away  from  this  form  of  faith 
at  Oxford.  For  a  while  he  was  without  re- 
ligion; but  he  lived  a  clean  and  upright  life. 

It  was  a  foregone  conclusion  he  would  find 
some  form  of  faith.  He  was  a  man  to  whom 
life  would  not  have  been  life  without  it.  He 
was  naturally  enthusiastic  and  idealistic,  a  man 
to  lead  a  forlorn  hope,  or  throw  away  his  life 
recklessly  for  a  noble  idea.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  he  has  done  so.  He  lies  to-day  in  an  hon- 


86  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

cured  grave  in  France;  and  we,  for  whom  he 
gave  his  life,  pray  in  love  and  gratitude  for  his 
soul's  peace. 

When  he  left  college  and  went  to  London  he 
became  a  Catholic.  He  was  deeply  in  earnest ; 
and  he  believed,  after  a  while,  that  he  was 
called  to  the  priesthood.  He  may  have  been 
right. 

Just  as  he  was  preparing  to  begin  his  theo- 
logical training  he  met  a  man,  older  than  him- 
self, who  had  a  strong  influence  over  the  minds 
of  others.  He  had  a  most  curious  and  sinister 
influence  over  the  minds  of  men  younger  than 
himself.  He  seemed  to  dazzle  and  glamour 
them;  he  was  extremely  brilliant  in  conversa- 
tion, I  believe,  and  had  a  great  faculty  for 
making  black  seem  white,  and  vice  versa. 

He  was  either  a  brilliant  madman  or  ab- 
normally wicked;  for  he  had  an  insensate 
hatred  of  anything  of  the  nature  of  religion. 
If  he  met  a  man  who  had  faith,  he  strove  with 
all  his  might  either  to  undermine  that  faith,  or 
to  cause  the  person  who  adhered  to  it  to  do 


WRECKAGE  87 

something  to  disgrace  it,  and  discredit  it  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world.  For  you  know  how  a  re- 
ligion is  often  discredited  simply  because  its 
professors  live  in  defiance  of  its  teachings;  and 
people  cry  out  that  such  and  such  a  faith  has 
failed,  when  it  has  simply  never  been  put  into 
practice  but  merely  professed  with  the  tongue. 

In  the  case  of  the  unhappy  young  fellow 
whose  tale  I  am  telling — I  will  call  him  Lester; 
it  is  not  his  name  nor  anything  like  it — he  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  the  latter. 

It  is  not  needful  to  give  details.  If  I  did, 
you  might  trace  the  matter,  which  I  do  not  de- 
sire. Suffice  it  to  say  that  he  succeeded  very 
thoroughly  indeed. 

There  was  a  terrible  scandal.  Lester  dis- 
appeared, in  an  agony  of  shame  and  remorse, 
from  the  ken  of  all  who  knew  and  loved  him. 
He  was  very  lovable;  and  there  were  many 
who  cared  for  him  greatly.  His  mother,  I  am 
thankful  to  say,  was  dead. 

At  the  end  of  a  year  one  of  his  friends  found 


88  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

him.  He  was  in  a  most  deplorable  condition; 
not  in  poverty,  for  he  had  some  means. 

He  was  living  with  the  very  dregs  of  the 
people — with  the  totally  submerged.  He 
slept  in  the  lowest  common  lodging-houses. 
Sometimes  he  walked  the  streets  all  night,  and 
slept  on  the  grass  in  Regent's  Park  all  day. 

You  have  probably  seen  those  people — 
regular  habitues  of  that  park.  I  have  seen 
them  sleeping  on  the  sodden  wet  ground  in 
November  and  December;  lying  on  the  dank 
grass  with  a  black-yellow  fog  brooding  over 
them  like  a  pall.  At  night  when  the  park  closes 
they  rise;  they  drift  out  and  go  on  their  way. 
They  walk  the  streets  by  night ;  they  earn  their 
living  during  the  dark  hours  by  strange  and 
sometimes  terrible  shifts. 

With  these,  our  unheeded  brethren,  Lester 
was  living — herding  with  them,  rather— 
when  his  friend  found  him.  He  had  not  taken 
to  drink,  thank  God !  nor  yet  to  drugs. 

He  was  clad  in  filthy  rags ;  he  was  unwashed, 


WRECKAGE  89 

and  his  face  was  covered  with  a  stubbly  beard. 
He  looked  like  the  lowest  type  of  tramp. 

In  that  condition  he  was  brought  to  Brent. 
He  was  in  no  state  for  the  guest-house.  His 
nervous  condition  alone  would  have  forbid- 
den it.  When  he  was  clean,  and  shaven,  and 
decently  clad,  I  put  him  in  the  little  flat  for 
invalids. 

At  first  he  seemed  to  be  plunged  in  a  depres- 
sion too  deep  for  speech.  He  sat,  numb  and 
impassive,  in  the  porch  room  of  the  flat,  look- 
ing straight  in  front  of  him.  If  I  asked  him 
a  question  he  just  answered  me.  Sometimes 
he  did  not  answer  at  all,  save  by  an  impatient 
shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

But  one  day  he  raised  his  heavy  eyes  to  my 
face  and  said: 

"What  sheer  waste  of  time!" 

"What  do  you  mean4?"  I  asked. 

He  replied: 

"Waste  of  your  time!  What  on  earth  can 
it  matter  whether  I'm  clean  and  fed  and  de- 
cent in  appearance?" 


go  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"I  suppose,"  I  answered,  "it  matters  as  much 
for  you  as  it  does  for  any  one,  Lester." 

"That's  just  where  you're  wrong,"  he 
answered. 

"Wherein  am  I  wrong*?"  said  I. 

"Don't  you  see  what  has  happened?"  asked 
he.  "Do  you  really  not  know*?" 

"Know  what?"  I  asked. 

"Know  that  my  soul's  past  praying  for,"  he 
replied.  "Don't  you  know  it  is  damned  here 
and  now  in  time,  and  nothing  you  or  anybody 
else  can  do  can  save  it?  If  you  don't  know, 
you  must  be  stone  blind !" 

I  was  very  thankful  he  had  begun  to  talk 
at  last.  I  found  out  little  by  little  the  ghastly 
notion  which  possessed  his  tortured  brain. 
The  old  Calvinistic  leaven  of  his  babyhood, 
which  terrified  his  childhood,  and  had  been  re- 
jected by  his  manhood,  was  at  work. 

Those  early  impressions  made  upon  the 
brain  and  nerves  are  terribly  indelible.  They 
are  like  the  searing  of  red-hot  irons  upon  the 
flesh. 


WRECKAGE  91 

Reason  may  reject  them;  they  may  be  for- 
gotten in  the  press  of  life;  but  there  comes  an 
hour  of  weakness,  a  time  of  overstrain,  and 
they  creep  back — cruel  ghosts! — out  of  the 
shadows,  to  haunt  and  bewilder.  It  was  thus 
with  poor  Lester.  In  the  weakness  produced 
by  his  bitter  shame  and  remorse  the  old  beliefs 
returned.  He  was  quite  convinced  he  was  pre- 
destined to  damnation. 

"No,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head,  "no  argu- 
ment you  can  use  will  persuade  me.  Look  at 
it  for  yourself!  If  I,  a  Catholic  in  belief,  a 
Catholic  in  practice,  could,  in  spite  of  my  faith, 
in  spite  of  the  Sacraments,  in  spite  of  prayer, 
fall  into  mortal  sin,  it  is  a  sign  that  I  am 
willed  by  God  to  perish.  You  sin  in  trying  to 
save  me." 

"That  is  a  most  outrageous  belief,"  I  said. 

"It  is  reasonable,"  he  answered.     "If  it  is 
God's  will  I  should  be  lost,  and  you  try  to 
save  me,  you  are  opposing  His  Will,  and  put-* 
ting  yourself  in  great  peril." 


92  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

I  spoke  to  him  of  the  Sacraments — of  pen- 
ance and  absolution. 

"There  is  no  absolution  for  me,"  he  replied. 
"If  I  received  Holy  Communion,  it  would  be 
sacrilege ;  I  should  increase  my  eternal  torture." 

"Surely,"  I  said,  "God  is  all-powerful.  He 
can  save  you." 

"He  could,"  he  answered,  "but,  as  I  tell 
you,  He  does  not  will  to  do  so." 

'"What  of  repentance?"  I  asked. 

"Repentance  does  not  avail  for  me,"  said 
Lester.  "I  do  repent.  I  loathed  my  sin  di- 
rectly I  realised  its  hideousness.  But  that 
makes  no  difference  to  my  future  fate/' 

"How  can  you  dishonour  God's  Love  by 
such  a  terrible  thought?"  I  said. 

"His  Love  is  for  others,"  he  answered. 
"For  me  there  is  nothing  save  His  Wrath,  I 
think  I  am  glad." 

"Glad!"  I  exclaimed 

"Glad,"  he  answered.  "My  betrayal  of  my 
faith,  and  my  sin,  are  so  abhorrent  to  me,  I 


WRECKAGE  93 

am  almost  glad  to  know  my  anguish  and  my 
punishment  will  never  cease." 

This  terrible  condition  of  mind  lasted 
throughout  the  winter.  I  said  all  I  could  think 
of  to  help  him.  I  assured  him  that  pardon 
was  his  if  he  repented.  I  laid  before  him  all 
the  arguments  I  could,  to  show  how  monstrous 
was  the  doctrine  which  possessed  his  mind. 
Gereth  Fenton  spent  whole  days  and  nights  in 
prayer  for  him.  Nothing  availed.  His  con- 
dition grew  worse;  and  I  never  encountered 
before  such  marvellous  facility  as  he  possessed 
for  inventing  horrible  and  fantastic  possibili- 
ties which  might  result  from  his  supposedly 
hopeless  condition. 

There  came  one  of  those  days  which  some- 
times come  in  February.  It  was  very  mild, 
and  the  wind  was  soft  and  balmy.  It  was 
warmer  than  it  often  is  in  June.  The  little 
spell  of  warmth  lasted  during  two  or  three 
days.  There  was  a  pale  blue  sky,  and  the 
clouds,  very  light  and  tenuous,  flew  low,  frail 
wreaths  pf  white  mist,  floating  in  midair  just 


94  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

over  the  pine-tree  tops;  the  blue  of  sky  was 
not  veiled  by  them.  We  often  get  such  clouds 
here ;  blown  in,  in  light  streamers  from  the  sea. 

The  catkins  were  out  on  the  nut-boughs;  we 
have  an  avenue  of  old  nut-trees  in  the  garden. 
The  "palm"  began  to  show  buds  like  mother 
o'  pearl,  not  yet  dusted  with  golden  pollen. 
The  Garden  of  the  Holy  Child  was  white  from 
end  to  end  with  snowdrops.  A  few  golden 
crocuses  peeped  up  in  the  gardens;  the  winter 
aconite  showed  its  pale  green  frills  and  yellow 
blossoms.  In  sheltered  places  in  the  Forest 
primroses  were  in  bud. 

Those  last  few  months  before  the  storm 
broke,  and  wreckage  strewed  the  world ! 

I  persuaded  poor  Lester  to  stroll  with  me 
in  the  gardens.  It  was  very  difficult,  as  a  rule, 
to  get  him  to  do  this. 

As  he  sat  continually  brooding,  he  invented 
a  dreadful  fancy  that  his  supposedly  lost  con- 
dition* could  infect  others  and  drag  down  their 
souls  to  hell  with  him. 

When  he  was  strongly  obsessed  by  this  awful 


WRECKAGE  95 

thought  he  refused  to  leave  the  little  walled 
garden  attached  to  his  flat.  Sometimes  he 
would  declare  he  was  having  this  effect  upon 
me;  and  he  would  adjure  me  solemnly  to  fly, 
and  leave  him. 

But  on  this  occasion  I  induced  him  to  walk 
to  the  Garden  of  the  Holy  Child;  and  we  sat 
down  on  the  broad  stone  bench  where  Rene  and 
I  ate  strawberries  nearly  fifteen  years  before. 

As  we  sat  there,  Rene  came  into  the  garden. 
He  looked  intensely  absorbed,  as  though  he 
did  not  notice  us.  He  had  a  basket  in  his  hand ; 
he  knelt  down  and  began  to  pick  snowdrops. 
I  found  afterwards  he  was  picking  them  for  the 
chapel  of  our  Lady  of  Light  which  Jesse  Cam- 
eron built  in  the  little  pine-wood  here. 

It  had  a  brass  plate  on  the  wall  to  the  mem- 
ory of  Paul  Cameron,  Jesse's  father.  It  has 
another  now,  to  the  memory  of  Jesse  himself, 
he  who  built  the  place  and  hallowed  it  by  his 
vigils  and  his  penitence. 

As  Rene  knelt  in  the  garden,  picking  busily 
the  snow-white  green-tipped  flowers,  I  became 


96  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

aware  that  Lester  was  leaning  back  against  th« 
closely  clipped  box  hedge  which  rose  like  a  wall 
behind  the  bench.  He  was  slipping  sideways, 
and  beginning  to  breathe  very  slowly  and 
rhythmically.  I  looked  at  him.  His  eyes 
were  shut;  his  face  was  very  peaceful;  he  was 
going  to  sleep.  I  rose  softly  and  lowered  him 
inch  by  inch  on  to  the  bench,  without  waking 
him.  He  was  in  a  profound  sleep.  I  fetched 
a  cushion  and  slipped  it  cautiously  under  his 
head,  and  covered  him  with  a  rug.  He  did 
not  stir.  He  was  sleeping  very  quietly,  and 
his  face  looked  younger ;  the  lines  were  smoothed 
out  which  were  carved  between  the  brows  and 
round  the  mouth. 

I  listened  to  his  slow  deep  breathing,  like 
that  of  a  child.  It  was  a  restful,  dreamless 
sleep  and  it  lasted  for  more  than  six  hours. 
It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  it  be- 
gan, and  the  sun  was  just  setting  when  he  woke. 

Rene  left  the  gardens  with  his  snowdrops 
about  twenty  minutes  after  Lester  went  to 
&leep;  but  he  came  back  again,  and  was  in  and 


WRECKAGE  97 

out  of  the  garden  all  day;  he  was  making  a 
little  rockery  at  the  foot  of  the  shrine,  and  pre- 
paring there  a  place  to  grow  some  little  creep- 
ing plants. 

When  Lester  woke,  Rene  was  no  longer 
there.  Lester  raised  himself  slowly,  looked 
about  him,  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

I  watched  him  anxiously.  I  felt  sure  some- 
thing had  come  to  pass,  during  that  strange  and 
§udden  sleep,  which  would  change  the  situation 
in  some  way.  But  I  had  no  idea  what  had  been 
effected,  nor  how  it  had  been  done. 

I  saw  his  whole  expression  was  changed.  He 
was  another  man.  He  seemed  to  search  his 
memory  for  awhile.  Then  he  rose  slowly, 
raised  his  arms  high  above  his  head  and 
stretched  his  muscles.  He  looked  all  round 
the  garden,  looked  at  the  pillow  and  the  rug, 
and  then  at  me. 

"Have  I  been  asleep,  Father  Standish?"  he 
said. 

His  voice  was  changed.  The  dull,  leaden, 
hollow  sound  was  gone. 


g8  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "you  slept  very  soundly." 

"When  did  I  go  to  sleep?" 

"This  morning,  after  breakfast.  It  was 
about  ten  o'clock." 

"What  time  is  it  now?' 

"I  think  it  is  nearly  five." 

"And  how  long  have  I  been  out  of  my 
mind?" 

I  hesitated. 

"When  was  I  brought  here — to  Brent?" 

"It  was  in  November." 

"And  this  month  is  February,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Father  Standish,"  said  Lester,  "I  do  not 
know  whether  I  have  really  been  mad,  or 
possessed  by  a  lying  spirit.  Perhaps  it  is  the 
same  thing.  But  I  am  sane  again  now.  I 
have  sinned,  God  forgive  me,  and  I  shall  carry 
that  sorrow  to  my  life's  end  when  I  think  of  it. 
But  I  know  Who  is  the  Way  for  me,  as  for  all 
sinners;  I  know  the  way  back  to  Him;  I  can 
arise  and  go  to  my  Father,  and  He  won't  cast 
me  out.  I  know  that  now.  And  I  know,  too, 


WRECKAGE  99 

what  you  have  done  for  me.  I  can  say  thank 
you,  and  God  bless  you  for  it." 

That  night,  as  I  knelt  before  the  Tabernacle 
and  gave  Him  thanks  for  this  great  deliver- 
ance of  poor  Lester,  I  saw  in  a  flash,  or  thought 
I  saw,  what  had  happened  to  him.  I  mean  I 
saw  wherein  his  trouble  lay,  though  not  the 
method  of  his  relief. 

The  man's  soul  had  long  been  shriven;  it 
was  clean,  it  was  at  rest  in  its  repentance,  and 
His  pardoning,  re-creating  Life.  But  the 
trouble  was  with  the  body,  the  tortured  brain 
and  nerves. 

A  Power  had  touched  hint  which  healed 
them ;  and  the  torture  ceased.  In  some  fashion 
which  I  did  not  then  understand  at  all,  Rene 
was  connected  with  that  bodily  shriving. 

I  wondered  whether  he  was  aware  of  it.  I 
thought  I  would  try  to  find  out  whether  he 
knew  what  had  taken  place. 

I  met  him  the  next  day,  going  about  his  work 
as  usual.  I  stopped  him,  and  asked  whether 
he  knew  Lester  by  sight. 


ioo          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

He  looked  at  me  in  his  solemn  way,  per- 
formed his  customary  feat  of  travelling  from 
a  vast  distance  to  speak  with  me,  and  said : 

"I  think  not,  Father  Anthony." 

"I  mean  the  man  who  was  in  the  Child's  Gar- 
den all  day  yesterday,"  said  I. 

Rene  searched  his  memory  carefully. 

"Was  there  a  man  there?"  he  said. 

"There  was.  He  was  sleeping  on  the  bench 
all  day.  Did  you  not  see  him1?" 

"I  must  have  done,  I  suppose.  But  I  did 
not  realise  it,  I  think;  and  I  have  forgotten  it. 
I  am  very  inattentive  and  unobservant.  I 
don't  notice  things.  Sleeping  there*?" 

"Yes.'' 

"Was  he  ill?" 

"Yes.     He  was  not  at  all  well." 

"I  hope  I  did  not  disturb  him*?" 

"No,"  said  I,  smiling.  "Do  not  be  troubled 
about  that.  You  did  not  disturb  him  at  all. 
He  was  greatly  the  better  for  his  sleep.** 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Rene. 


CHAPTER  X 

RALPH    FORBES 

IN  the  month  of  March,  about  three  weeks  after 
poor  Lester  left  us,  I  received  a  letter  exquis- 
itely spaced,  written  in  a  very  minute  and 
beautifully  legible  hand,  on  very  good  paper 
which  bore  a  crest.  It  was  signed  Ralph 
Forbes,  and  it  enclosed  a  letter  of  introduction 
from  the  Duchess  of  Garrydale. 

The  writer  said  he  wished  to  spend  a  short 
time  of  quiet  and  seclusion  at  Brent,  of  which 
he  had  heard  so  much.  Would  I  consent  to 
receive  him  for  a  fortnight  at  the  guest-house? 
He  would,  of  course,  strictly  conform  to  the 
rules  which  prevailed  there,  whatever  they 
might  be.  He  greatly  desired  to  have  a  period 
of  reflection  and  freedom  from  worldly  dis- 
turbance ;  he  had  heard  much  of  the  helpful  in- 
fluences and  peaceful  atmosphere  of  Brent.  I 

101 


102          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

did  not  like  the  letter;  there  was  something 
about  the  phrasing  which  did  not  ring  true.  I 
disliked  the  praise  of  the  place,  which  had  in 
it  a  tone  as  of  personal  flattery. 

But  I  have  never  yet  refused  to  receive  any 
one  at  the  guest-house.  Whatsoever  may  be 
their  class  or  character — whether  it  be  high  or 
low — I  receive  them. 

There  was  no  reason  why  I  should  refuse  to 
receive  this  Ralph  Forbes.  His  reason  for 
wishing  to  come  was  a  legitimate  one ;  his  refer- 
ence— the  Duchess  of  Garrydale,  whom  I  know 
and  respect — was  unexceptionable. 

I  wrote  to  him  accordingly,  saying  I  should 
be  glad  to  welcome  him  at  the  guest-house  for 
a  couple  of  weeks. 

He  duly  arrived. 

He  was  a  tall,  lean,  fine-looking,  "well- 
groomed"  man  of  thirty-five.  He  had  very 
good  features,  alert  eyes,  and  most  agreeable 
manners.  I  think  some  people  might  have  said 
they  were  a  little  too  suave ;  but  that  is  a  mat- 
ter of  taste.  Suavity  does  not  mean  insincerity 


RALPH  FORBES  103 

and  ulterior  motives ;  though  it  is  true  it  some- 
times suggests  them.     But  the  suggestion  is, 

C-t7  CJCJ  * 

more  often  than  not,  a  wholly  false  one. 

I  afterwards  found  out  a  good  deal  about 
Ralph  Forbes;  which  I  will  set  down  here. 

He  was  an  Englishman.  His  father  was 
English,  though  I  suppose  his  family  came 
originally  from  Scotland;  his  mother  was  an 
American.  He  had  no  profession.  He  was 
well  off;  and  he  was  unmarried.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  Eton  and  Oxford.  He  had  travelled 
all  over  the  world,  and  lived  in  France,  Ger- 
many, Italy  and  America;  therefore  he  was 
very  cosmopolitan.  He  spoke  many  tongues, 
was  conversant  with  many  customs  and  ways  of 
living,  and  did  not  carry  the  stamp  of  nation- 
ality as  most  men  do. 

He  was  a  man  who,  having  pretty  well  ex- 
hausted sensations  procured  by  the  obvious  and 
customary,  turned,  in  order  to  satisfy  his  crav- 
ing for  knowledge  and  for  sensation  in  some 
form,  to  the  less  obvious  and  more  unusual. 

Therefore   he    "went   after   strange   gods." 


104  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

The  worship  of  God  was  the  one  thing  it  had 
never  occurred  to  him  to  try;  I  think  if  he  had 
ever  thought  of  it  he  would  have  attempted  to 
develop  the  faculty  of  worship,  simply  as  a 
form  of  self-indulgence. 

He  investigated  spiritualism,  studied  Chris- 
tian Science,  joined  strange  underground  sects 
and  cults;  cults  that  avowed  themselves  to  be 
devil-worshippers;  cults  that  aimed  at  penetra- 
ting and  reviving  the  mysteries  and  "magic" 
of  Egypt. 

He  had  a  morbid  craving  for  wonders,  an 
insatiable  curiosity,  and  an  extremely  profane 
mind,  veiled  by  perfectly  decorous  phrase- 
ology. 

He  met,  as  a  fellow-member  of  one  of  his 
burrowing  expeditions  into  the  extraordinary, 
the  man  who  was  mainly  responsible  for  the  fall 
of  poor  Lester. 

He  knew  what  happened  to  Lester,  and  the 
state  he  was  in.  When  he  returned  from  Brent, 
calm,  steadfast,  ready  to  face  the  world,  and 
hopeful  in  his  repentance,  this  man,  Ralph 


RALPH  FORBES  105 

Forbes,  became  curious  and  interested.  Of 
spiritual  life,  of  spiritual  power,  he  knew  noth- 
ing. He  called  anything  spiritual  which  was 
inexplicable  or  "uncanny."  He  suspected  a 
mystery  of  "magic"  at  Brent.  He  came  down 
to  investigate  it. 

He  was  extremely  deferential  to  me ;  regard- 
ing me  as  the  high-priest  of  an  unfamiliar  cult. 
He  thought  there  was  an  inner  organisation  at 
Brent,  hidden  under  orthodox  observance. 

He  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the  chapel, 
kneeling  in  the  most  reverent  way,  after  pro- 
found genuflexions,  before  the  Tabernacle. 
He  would  kneel,  absolutely  immovable,  for 
three  or  four  hours  at  a  stretch.  His  perse- 
verance and  power  of  self-discipline  were  ad- 
mirable ;  I  must  say  that  in  justice  to  him.  But 
it  was  terribly  painful  to  see  him;  because, 
though  there  was  nothing  to  find  fault  with  in 
his  behaviour,  I  knew  well  he  was  simply  ex- 
perimenting in  some  way.  I  did  not  know,  at 
the  time,  that  it  was  to  him  a  new  form  of 
magic.  I  was  sure  of  this,  however,  when  I 


io6          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

learned  what  I  afterwards  learnt.  While  he 
was  at  Brent  I  knew  none  of  the  details  I  have 
just  set  down.  But  I  was  certain  there  was 
something  amiss,  in  spite  of  the  blameless,  and 
even  praiseworthy,  outer  practice. 

He  was  like  a  miasma  in  the  guest-house. 
He  was  the  first  guest  I  ever  had  whom  I 
wished  away  with  all  my  heart.  By  the  way, 
I  have  not  given  you  his  real  name. 

At  the  end  of  three  or  four  days  he  came 
to  me  as  I  walked  across  the  quadrangle.  He 
had  been  watching  for  me  from  the  cloister. 

"Could  I  speak  with  you,  Father,"  he  said 
with  an  air  of  great  reverence  and  deference. 
"Your  time  is  precious,  I  know  well " 

"I  am  quite  at  your  service,"  said  I. 
"Come  to  my  room,  will  you  not?" 

We  left  the  quadrangle  together,  and  walked 
silently  through  the  cloister.  There  is  a  great 
Ober-Ammergau  crucifix  hanging  there.  Forbes 
bowed  very  reverently  as  he  passed  the  Figure. 

We  entered  my  room,  and  he  declined  to  sit 


RALPH  FORBES  107 

down  till  I  was  seated.  It  was  done  a  little 
ostentatiously. 

He  began  by  lauding  the  "atmosphere"  of 
Brent ;  during  the  course  of  all  his  talk  and  his 
song  of  praise,  he  slipped  in,  adroitly,  little 
unexpected  questions,  as  though  he  thought  to 
surprise  some  secret,  and  lead  me  to  betray 
a  knowledge  which  I  wished  to  hide. 

It  puzzled  me  at  the  time,  because  I  be- 
lieved, in  my  ignorance,  that  he  came  to  Brent 
for  the  reason  he  assigned;  though  I  realised 
his  long  hours  in  the  chapel  were  not  prompted 
by  devotion,  but  by  some  other  reason  which 
I  could  not  fathom.  It  was  not  until  the  fol- 
lowing day  I  realised  what  the  reason  was. 

There  was  no  mystery  at  Brent  which  I  could 
have  betrayed  had  I  desired  to  do  so.  There- 
fore, of  course,  he  surprised  nothing  and  made 
no  discoveries. 

But  because  he  did  not  believe  this,  his  mind 
being  full  of  "magic"  and  "occult  secrets,"  he 
thought  I  had  deliberately  baffled  him,  and 
was  annoyed. 


io8          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

At  last  he  said  very  suavely: 

"I  am  going  to  be  very  presumptuous, 
Father." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  I  said,  smiling. 

"Will  you  permit  me — I  know  I  am  asking 
much — will  you  allow  me  to  hold  a  vigil  in 
the  chapel  all  night?" 

Since  the  autumn  of  1914  there  has  been 
an  uninterrupted  watch  in  the  chapel  at  Brent. 
Although  we  were  short-handed  on  the  farm 
and  in  the  gardens,  so  that  many,  who  were 
commonly  employed  otherwise,  learned  to  lend 
a  hand  in  work  foreign  to  them,  we  neverthe- 
less maintained  our  watch  night  and  day,  up 
lifting  souls  in  the  storm  and  stress  of  the  world 
to  God,  in  Whom  is  neither  storm  nor  change. 
Prayer  has  never  ceased  for  these,  since  the 
tempest  burst  upon  us. 

But  at  the  time  when  Ralph  Forbes  made 
his  "presumptuous"  request,  that  is  to  say  in 
March,  1914,  the  watch  was  only  kept  from 
Prime  till  Compline.  Prime  was  said  at  six, 
and  Mass  at  seven;  after  Mass  the  watch  went 


RALPH  FORBES  109 

on  till  Compline.  After  Compline,  until  two 
o'clock  when  we  met  to  sing  Matins  and  Lauds, 
the  chapel  was  unwatched  by  any  visible  wor- 
shipper. 

Gereth  Fenton  often  kept  an  all-night  watch 
there;  I  also  kept  a  vigil  on  occasion;  but  as 
a  regular  thing  the  chapel  was  empty  from  nine 
till  two  A.M.  In  any  case  I  never  allowed  a 
guest  to  watch  there  alone  at  night;  unless  it 
was  for  some  very  special  reason.  I  said  this, 
as  politely  as  I  could.  Forbes  was  the  last  man 
to  whom  I  would  have  given  permission  to  do 
what  he  desired  to  do.  But  there  was  no  need 
to  tell  him  this;  I  stated  the  fact  of  my  usual 
rule.  He  was  very  courteous;  declared  he 
quite  understood  the  wisdom  of  the  rule,  and 
then  added,  tactlessly,  that  he  was,  of  course, 
a  comparative  stranger  to  me.  This  little  slip 
on  his  part  showed  me  he  did  not  believe  my 
words,  and  thought  I  was  inventing  a  rule  for 
my  own  purposes.  He  was  inwardly  annoyed 
at  being  thwarted. 

We  never  lock  the  chapel.     In  this  little 


no  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

quiet  place,  where  I  know  well  every  man, 
woman  and  child,  and  we  are  all  one  family  in 
our  Father's  house,  there  is  no  reason  it  should 
be  so.  Our  Lord  keeps  open  house  there  night 
and  day  for  all  who  would  draw  near  Him. 

I  suppose  Ralph  Forbes  found  out  the  chapel 
was  left  open.  I  also  suppose  he  did  not  know 
we  sang  the  night  office  there.  The  day  after  I 
refused  him  the  permission  he  asked,  Gereth 
Fenton  came  to  me. 

"Father,"  he  said,  "I  saw  something  in  the 
chapel  last  night  which  you  ought  to  know." 

"What's  that,  Gereth?"  said  I. 

I  thank  God  we  have  no  sojourner  in  our 
house  of  peace  who  is  a  gossip  or  a  tale-bearer, 
nor  an  idle  critic  of  other  people's  actions;  so 
that  I  knew  Gereth  would  not  come  to  me  thus 
without  very  solid  reason. 

"I  went  there  at  ten  o'clock,"  he  replied. 
"I  meant  to  watch  in  the  Lady  Chapel  till 
matins." 

Gereth  Fenton  often  did  this,  and  he  had 
perfect  freedom  of  action  from  me  to  do  as 


RALPH  FORBES  ill 

he  chose  in  all  matters  of  devotion ;  for  he  was 
wise  and  discreet ;  he  knew  his  own  powers  and 
limitations,  and  moreover  I  knew  him  to  be 
guided  of  God. 

"I  saw  some  one  was  already  there,"  went  on 
Gereth.  "Some  one  was  kneeling  at  the  fald- 
stool immediately  before  the  altar.  It  was 
rather  dark;  but  I  saw  at  last  it  was  Mr. 
Forbes.3' 

"Forbes!"  said  I. 

"I  think  that  is  his  name.  A  tall  man,  and 
rather  striking  in  appearance." 

"There  is  a  man  of  that  name  staying  in  the 
guest-house,"  I  answered. 

"I  suppose  you  had  given  him  leave  to  watch 
there?"  said  Gereth. 

"I  refused  him  leave  to  watch  there,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"Ah!  Well,  he  was  there,  Father.  Since 
there  was  already  a  watcher  before  the  Taber- 
nacle, I  did  not  draw  nearer.  I  knelt  at  the 
back  of  the  chapel.  I  think  Forbes  thought 
he  was  alone," 


112  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"Why  do  you  think  that?" 

"Because  of  his  behaviour." 

"Well!     Goon." 

"He  got  up,  and  walked  up  the  altar  steps. 
He  walked  slowly  and  cautiously,  but  with- 
out making  any  sign  of  reverence.  He  drew 
back  the  Tabernacle  veil,  and  tried  the  door 
to  see  whether  it  was  open  or  locked.  I  can't 
guess  his  purpose  in  such  an  act." 

"I  can,"  I  replied.  It  was  that  report  of 
Gereth's  which  made  me  understand  Forbes* 
motives;  I  had  felt  before  that  he  was  explor- 
ing a  new  country;  but  I  did  not  know,  till 
then,  his  particular  line  of  research. 

"If  you  understand,  so  much  the  better, 
Father,"  said  Gereth.  "I  did  not;  and  I  don't 
want  to.  I  thought  the  action  an  atrocious 
piece  of  sacrilege;  but  perhaps  it  was  not  one 
in  his  eyes.  When  he  found  the  door  was 
locked,  he  walked  back  and  knelt  down  again. 
He  kept  absolutely  immovable,  save  that  I 
could  sometimes  hear  him  draw  his  breath  very 
slowly  and  deliberately.  He  never  stirred 


RALPH  FORBES  113 

hand  or  foot.  There  was  not  the  slightest  sug- 
gestion about  the  man  cither  of  prayer  or  adora- 
tion. He  might  have  been  conducting  a  scien- 
tific experiment." 

"Precisely!"  said  I.     "So  he  was!" 

"He  was!" 

"Go  on,  Gereth,"  I  said. 

"At  five  minutes  to  two  I  got  up  and  began 
to  ring  the  bell  for  Matins.  I  think  he  did 
not  know  we  sang  the  night  office  in  choir. 
I  saw  him  leap  up  in  a  startled  way,  and  go 
stealthily  and  quickly  out  of  the  chapel.  That 
made  me  wonder  whether  you  had  given  him 
permission  to  be  there.  He  got  away  before 
you  came  in." 

"I  am  glad  you  were  in  the  chapel  last  night," 
I  said.  "You  will  not,  I  know,  speak  to  any 
one  of  what  you  saw." 

"No,  Father.  Certainly  not.  I  should  not 
dream  of  doing  so." 

I  reflected  a  little.     Then  I  said : 

"I  will  not  mention  either  his  attempted  act 
of  sacrilege,  or  his  abuse  of  hospitality  to 


114          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

Forbes.  He  will  know  some  one  saw  him  in 
the  chapel.  He  will  probably  feel  sure  I  know 
of  it.  Did  he  see  and  recognise  you?" 

"No.  The  bell  is  in  shadow,  as  you  know. 
He  could  not  have  seen  me." 

"You  and  I  will  arrange  between  us  that 
the  chapel  is  never  unwatched  at  night  while 
Forbes  is  here.  No  such  affront  shall  be  offered 
Him  here  again  if  we  can  guard  against  it.  I 
ought  to  have  been  more  watchful.  But  I  did 
not  suspect  Forbes  of  this.  I  promised  him 
hospitality  for  a  fortnight.  He  shall  have  it. 
And  we  will  guard  the  chapel  all  night  till  he 
goes." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   INCARNATE    HATE 

DURING  the  next  twenty-four  hours  I  became 
aware  that  a  very  extraordinary  change  had 
taken  place  in  Forbes.  I  must  try  to  explain 
the  nature  of  that  change,  for  it  was  a  very 
subtle  one,  and  made  itself  felt  by  degrees. 

It  was  not  an  external  change;  his  expres- 
sion was  the  same;  his  manner  suave  and 
agreeable  as  usual.  Moreover,  and  this  is  the 
chief  point  to  notice,  he  was  himself  wholly 
unaware  of  it.  It  is  important  to  notice  this, 
because  it  is  the  pivot  of  the  whole  thing.  The 
case  of  Ralph  Forbes  was,  if  I  may  so  phrase 
it,  the  same  case  as  that  of  Rene  Clinton — 
only  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  pole.  The  law 
that  governed  Rene  applied  equally  to  Forbes, 
but  with  a  difference.  Neither  was  his  own. 
Both  were  equally  unconscious  of  what  was  be- 

"5 


ii6  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

ing  done  through  them.  The  source  of  the 
power  in  Rene's  case  was  Love;  in  the  case  of 
Forbes  it  was  Hate.  Hate,  as  a  living,  con- 
scious power,  became  incarnate  in  him,  with  the 
object  of  bringing  about  certain  definite  results 
at  Brent. 

I  should  think,  perhaps,  that  what  I  have 
stated  was  simply  the  weaving  of  my  own 
imagination,  were  it  not  for  three  things  which 
forbid  me  to  reach  that  conclusion.  In  the  first 
place,  there  were  the  external  effects  which 
were  obvious  to  all ;  as  plain  to  those  who  did 
not  suspect  the  cause  as  to  those  who  did  sus- 
pect it.  These  effects  ended  as  suddenly  as« 
they  began;  they  ceased  with  the  termination 
of  Forbes'  visit.  In  the  second  place,  both 
Alison  and  Fenton  confirm  my  opinion;  they 
arrived  at  their  conclusions  independently  of 
me,  and  of  each  other.  In  the  third  place,  there 
was  the  startling  conclusion  of  Forbes'  sojourn 
with  us. 

The  first  time  that  he  and  I  met  after  Gereth 
Fenton  told  me  of  what  took  place  in  the  chapel, 


THE  INCARNATE  HATE        117 

I  felt  sure  Forbes  suspected  that  I  knew  what  he 
had  done.  He  was  a  little  on  the  defensive, 
though  he  hid  it  very  cleverly.  He  felt  ill  at 
ease,  and  he  felt  angry,  as  one  who  had  been 
placed,  albeit  by  his  own  act,  in  a  somewhat 
humiliating  position.  It  was  not  pleasant  to 
have  been  "caught"  like  a  boy  out  of  bounds. 
It  was  undignified,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  I  think 
he  was  the  more  annoyed  because  I  said  nothing, 
and  was  scrupulously  polite. 

But  above  all  things  he  felt  baffled;  he 
thought  I  was  keeping  the  "secret  of  Brent" 
from  him ;  the  secret  which  had  power  to  restore 
Lester,  and  raise  him,  as  it  were,  from  the  dead. 
He  did  not  know  that  no  human  creature  can 
either  keep  or  reveal  the  secret  of  this  place 
from  or  to  any  living  soul. 

It  is  that  secret  which  each  man  must  know 
in  himself;  it  will  never  be  told  to  him  from 
without,  if  it  be  not  revealed  to  him  from  with- 
in. For  the  secret  of  Brent  is  a  Royal  Secret; 
it  is  the  Secret  of  the  Kingdom  which  cometh 
not  by  observation. 


ii8          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

Ralph  Forbes  was  angry.  His  anger  sprang 
from  a  natural  human  pique  and  irritation.  He 
was  angry  with  me.  He  was  angry  with  him- 
self for  having  been  detected  in  a  false  position. 

But  gradually  his  anger  was  merged  in  some- 
thing much  greater ;  something  which  was  cold, 
implacable,  deadly,  and  crafty.  It  was  a  poi- 
sonous power,  like  the  very  breath  of  death. 

It  was  not  till  much  later,  when  the  storm- 
clouds  burst,  and  the  Kingdom  of  Hate  was  let 
loose  upon  the  shuddering  earth,  that  I  under- 
stood what  that  Hate,  which  was  Hot  human, 
attempted  to  do  through  the  personality  of  this 
unwise,  curious,  shifty  man. 

I  understood  then  better  the  silent  patient 
building  of  places  of  peace.  They  are  not  built 
in  a  day.  The  building  goes  on  steadily  through 
the  years — aye!  and  through  the  centuries — in 
order  that  there  may  be  centres  of  power,  pools 
of  the  waters  of  peace,  houses  not  made  with 
hands,  whence  help  may  go  out  to  storm-rent 
souls,  hi  the  days  when  the  great  water-floods 
of  anguish,  fear,  hatred,  and  sin  bid  fair  to  en- 


THE  INCARNATE  HATE        119 

gulf  the  children  of  men.  It  is  the  office  and 
glory  of  such  places  to  help — unseen — unknown 
— unglorified  by  human  tongues. 

Humanity  at  large  cannot  realise  these 
things,  and  few  people  suspect  them.  But  the 
powers  of  hate  realise  them  well  and  fully;  and 
hence  the  incarnate  Hate  went  forth  to  battle 
against  Brent,  and  all  for  which  Brent  stood,  in 
those  early  months  of  the  year  1914. 

It  went  forth  to  destroy,  if  it  might;  but  at 
least  to  establish  there  a  spot  of  turmoil,  bitter- 
ness, fear,  and,  if  possible,  doubt.  During 
those  days  the  forces  of  the  Kingdom  of  Hate 
could  be  felt  sweeping  through  the  place  in 
great  waves,  like  the  waters  of  a  sea  of  savage 
unrest.  They  would  ebb  a  little,  and  then  re- 
turn to  the  assault. 

Sometimes,  in  the  chapel,  the  assailing  power 
became  almost  tangible  and  visible ;  like  an  ice- 
cold  mist  of  darkness  engulfing  us.  This  state  of 
affairs  lasted  during  three  days;  growing  more 
and  more  intolerable. 

Every  one  in  the  place — with  one  exception 


120          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

— felt  the  strain.  Most  of  them  attributed  it 
to  their  own  moods.  They  thought  it  was  due 
to  their  natural  temptations ;  to  their  tendencies 
to  gloom,  depression,  doubt,  restlessness,  irrita- 
bility, envy,  despair,  anger,  and  so  forth.  It 
was  a  power  which  tore  apart,  stirred  up  diffi- 
culties, changed  true  values  for  false  ones,  be- 
fogged the  mind,  and  made  for  unrest  and  dis- 
integration. 

It  was  Hate,  in  short,  in  its  countless  ramifi- 
cations, directed  by  a  will  which  was  not  hu- 
man, through  a  human  tool  and  pivot  of  action. 

One  person  remained  unaffected  by  it.  That 
person  was  Rene.  He  remained  rather  ab- 
stracted, as  usual.  He  had  no  varying  moods ; 
he  experienced  no  change,  and  no  struggle.  His 
path  seemed  to  be  always  simple  and  clear. 

There  were  about  five  or  six  days  left  of  the 
fortnight  Forbes  was  to  spend  with  us ;  and  the 
strain  was  waxing  terrific. 

It  was  a  clear  windy  March  day ;  I  came  out 
of  the  chapel  after  Terce.  The  wind  was  tear- 
ing through  the  cloister,  and  blowing  with  it 


THE  INCARNATE  HATE        121 

the  smell  of  sweet-briar.  There  are  big  bushes 
of  it  in  the  turf  quadrangle. 

Forbes  was  close  behind  me.  As  I  passed  the 
great  Ober-Ammergau  Crucifix  he  came  level 
with  me  and  walked  by  my  side.  I  was  going 
to  my  room  to  attend  to  my  letters. 

Forbes  was  very  punctilious  about  observing 
all  the  rules  of  the  house.  He  had  not  expected 
his  deliberate  defiance  of  me  in  the  matter  of 
the  chapel  to  be  discovered.  One  of  the  strict- 
est rules  is  that  there  is  to  be  no  talking  in  the 
cloister. 

Therefore  I  was  amazed  when  the  man  at 
my  side  suddenly  called  out  loudly: 

"Great  God!    What's  that!" 

I  looked  at  him.  He  was  death-white — • 
green-white — and  he  was  shaking  all  over,  so 
that  I  thought  he  was  struck  with  palsy. 

Then  I  looked  down  the  cloister  in  front  of 
us.  I  saw  nothing  save  Rene.  He  was  at  the 
far  end.  Rene,  in  his  old  gardening  suit,  his 
hands  covered  with  earth  stains,  and  carrying  a 
trowel.  A  more  unalarming,  insignificant  fig- 


122  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

ure  could  hardly  be  imagined.  He  was  too  far 
off  for  that  which  was  striking  in  his  appearance 
to  be  noticeable ;  and  at  all  times  he  was  not  an 
impressive  or  terrifying  figure. 

Rene  came  on  quietly,  his  trowel  in  one  hand, 
some  auricula  roots  in  the  other. 

As  he  passed  I  saw  Forbes  shrink  flat  against 
the  wall.  His  lips  were  drawn  back  in  a  snarl ; 
his  eyes  turned  with  a  sidelong  glance,  he  half 
crouched. 

He  reminded  me  of  Anderson's  savage  mon- 
grel when  he  expects  Anderson  will  thrash  him ; 
and  cowers,  half  threatening,  half  in  dread. 

I  felt  certain  from  Rene's  face  that  he  did 
not  notice  him.  I  feel  sure  Forbes  himself  did 
not  realise  what  his  attitude  and  expression 
were.  I  am  equally  sure  that  what  he  saw  was 
not  Rene. 

Rene  went  into  the  quadrangle  towards  the 
big  grey  granite  cross. 

Forbes  straightened  himself  with  an  effort 
and  walked  through  the  cloister  and  out  through 
the  doorway  into  the  guest-house  garden.  I  re- 


THE  INCARNATE  HATE        123 

member  my  feeling  of  the  incongruity  of  the 
scene  with  the  extraordinary  incident  I  had  just 
been  watching. 

The  broad  stretch  of  turf  in  front  of  the 
guest-house ;  the  two  old  cedar  trees ;  the  daffo- 
dils springing  in  the  grass,  and  the  fantail 
pigeons  and  the  white  peacock  under  the  cedars 
being  fed  by  one  of  the  guests.  It  all  looked 
natural  and  unsensational. 

Forbes  realised  I  had  followed  him.  I  do  not 
think  he  saw  Rene,  but  I  believe  he  was  begin- 
ning to  realise  that  some  one  passed  us  in  the 
cloister;  also  that  his  manner  had  been  unusual. 

4  "Who  was  the — the  person  who  passed  us 
just  now,  Father  Standish?'  he  asked.  "I — I 
was  a  little  startled — I — I  seemed — to  know  his 
face — and " 

His  voice  trailed  off  vaguely.  I  knew  he  told 
a  lie.  He  had  not  seen  Rene's  face. 

"Sir  James  Clinton's  son,"  I  said.  Clinton 
had  been  lately  knighted.  Forbes  seemed  to  be 
startled. 

"The  half-witted  son?"  he  asked. 


124          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"Sir  James  Clinton  has  but  one  son,  Mr. 
Forbes,"  I  said,  gravely. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  apologetically. 
"I  should  not  have  spoken  so  bluntly." 

Then  he  suddenly  reeled,  and  clutched  his 
left  side. 

"A  sudden  pain !"  he  said,  gasping.  "A — a 
heart  attack  to  which  I'm  liable." 

"Come  to  my  room,"  I  said.  "Let  me  sup- 
port you.  I  will  get  you  some  brandy." 

"No,"  he  said,  with  white  lips.  "I'll  go  to 
my  room.  I  have — medicine  there. 

He  went  to  his  room  in  the  guest-house,  and 
would  not  let  me  go  with  him.  He  wrote  me  a 
note  to  say  he  would  lie  down  and  keep  quiet 
for  the  rest  of  the  day.  The  following  morning 
I  received  another  note  to  say  he  had  passed  a 
restless  night.  He  feared  he  must  cut  short  the 
visit  he  had  so  much  appreciated.  He  must  go 
up  to  town  at  once  to  see  his  doctor;  the  pain 
was  persistent,  though  not  now  severe. 

He  left  Brent  within  the  hour.     He  wrote 


THE  INCARNATE  HATE         125 

me  a  very  polite  and  complimentary  letter  from 
town.  He  sang  the  praises  of  Brent ;  he  said  he 
earnestly  hoped  I  would  permit  him  to  visit  the 
place  again.  I  thought,  as  I  read  it,  that  noth- 
ing would  ever  induce  him  to  set  foot  again  in 
these  precincts;  and,  so  far,  I  have  been  right. 

I  asked  Rene  whether  he  noticed  the  man 
who  was  in  the  cloister  with  me.  He  replied: 

"I  saw  there  was  some  one  with  you,  Father. 
Ought  I  to  have  recognized  him?" 

"No,"  I  said;  "you  do  not  know  him.  He 
said  he  thought  he  recognised  your  face." 

I  thought  I  would  not  mention  to  any  one  the 
episode  of  the  cloister;  for  I  believed  no  one 
heard  the  outcry  of  Forbes  save  myself.  But  I 
found  Alison,  who  was  in  the  quadrangle,  heard 
it.  He  was  at  Terce,  and  like  myself,  had  but 
just  left  the  chapel.  When  I  knew  he  heard 
Forbes'  voice,  I  told  him  exactly  what  hap- 
pened, so  far  as  I  knew  it. 

"What  do  you  suggest  as  the  meaning  of  it, 
David?"  I  asked. 


126          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

Alison  answered: 

"I  think,  Father  Anthony,  that  Ralph  Forbes 
was  the  weapon  of  a  great  rebel;  and  what  he 
felt  was  the  touch  of  S.  Michael's  sword." 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  KNIGHT  OF  HEAVEN 

IN  the  month  of  May  in  that  year,  Sister  Mary 
Monica,  Jesse  Cameron's  sister,  came  to  visit 
her  aunt,  Lady  Lansworthy.  Sister  Mary 
Monica  was,  when  "in  the  world,"  Monica 
Cameron.  Her  parents  were  dead.  When  she 
had  her  brief  holiday  she  came  to  the  house  of 
her  father's  sister. 

Lady  Lansworthy,  who  owned  One  Holly, 
lived  in  a  house  just  beyond  Lexminster.  It 
was  only  a  short  motor  run  to  Brent.  Monica 
came  there,  not  solely  because  Lady  Lans- 
worthy was  her  nearest  relative  save  Jesse,  but 
because  it  enabled  her  to  see  her  brother,  for 
whom  she  has  a  great  love,  as  he  too  has  for 
her.  For  death  does  not  sever  love,  but  strength- 
ens it,  if  it  be  truly  love ;  so  that  I  am.  well  as- 
127 


128  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

sured  Jesse  loves  her  still,  as  I  know  she  loves 
him,  sorrowing  not  as  one  without  hope. 

Lady  Lansworthy,  who  is  an  excellent  speci- 
men of  a  good,  honourable,  and  somewhat  pro- 
saic English  gentlewoman,  refused  to  see  her 
nephew,  though  she  willingly  brought  her  niece 
to  Brent  to  visit  him.  She  did  not  see  him,  she 
said,  not  because  she  was  not  fond  of  him,  but 
as  a  matter  of  principle ;  of  protest  against  the 
life  he  led. 

As  you  know,  Jesse  Cameron  thought,  and  in 
my  opinion  thought  rightly,  that  he  was  wil- 
fully responsible  for  the  death  of  his  father,  and 
for  that  of  another  man;  hence  he  was  leading 
a  life  of  penance  and  reparation.  Lady  Lans- 
worthy disapproved  of  this  very  strongly ;  main- 
ly, I  think,  because  of  the  gossip  and  scandal 
which  was  talked  concerning  it,  and  also  be- 
cause he  had  renounced  all  this  world's  goods. 

Lady  Lansworthy  dislikes  unusual  and  un- 
recognised methods  of  life.  She  said,  "Jesse's 
proceedings  were  outre  and  unheard-of."  She 
regretted  that  her  niece  took  the  veil;  for,  she 


A  KNIGHT  OF  HEAVEN         129 

remarked,  "Monica  might  just  as  well  have 
been  ugly  if  she  was  going  to  do  that."  How- 
ever, "to  become  a  Sister,"  especially  one  of  an 
active  community,  was  a  recognised  and  not  un- 
usual course  of  action;  therefore  Lady  Lans- 
worthy  only  sighed  over  Monica  with  a  shadow 
of  regret. 

She  saw  Jesse  and  was  wholly  reconciled  to 
him  after  the  event  took  place  which  I  am  about 
to  describe.  After  the  battle  of  the  Somme  was 
fought  she  was  glad  to  remember  their  recon- 
ciliation. 

Lady  Lans worthy  was  what  she  called  "a 
good,  but  moderate,  Churchwoman."  To  doubt 
any  article  of  the  faith  was  as  grievous  to  her 
as  dropping  her  h's  would  have  been.  I  do  not 
use  this  comparison  flippantly;  I  use  it  because 
the  two  things  really  did  stand  level  in  Lady 
Lansworthy's  mind;  though  she  did  not  realise 
this,  and  would  have  been  shocked  to  hear  the 
comparison  I  have  just  made.  Nevertheless,  it 
is  a  just  one.  Religious  belief  was  to  her  a  part 
of  the  seemliness  of  life;  just  as  correct  gram- 


130          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

mar  and  pronunciation  were.  Religion  as  a 
dominant  passion — Religion  as  a  consuming  fire 
— she  did  not  understand. 

If  the  logical  effects  on  life  of  certain  facts  in 
which  she  believed  were  pointed  out  to  her,  she 
would  deny  they  were  logical. 

"If  So-and-so  were  permitted  to  impose  his 
extreme  views  on  society  at  large/*  she  said, 
"the  world  could  not  possibly  continue  on  its 
present  lines." 

"But  people  who,  as  you  admit,  are  members 
of  a  fallen  race  are  largely  responsible  for  its 
present  lines,"  I  replied.  "Does  it  matter  if 
their  arrangements  are  upset?" 

"Oh,  Father  Standish,"  she  answered,  "I  feel 
sure  you  are  too  good  a  man  to  desire  anything 
of  a  revolutionary  nature." 

'That  depends  on  what  you  revolutionise,"  I 
said. 

"O,  but  revolutions  are  always  horrid!"  she 
cried. 

"What  about  the  conversions  of  S.  Paul  and 


A  KNIGHT  OF  HEAVEN         131 

of  S.  Augustine?"  I  asked.  "Those  were  revolu- 
tions." 

"O  Father  Standish!"  she  exclaimed,  "How 
can  you  say  so !" 

Lady  Lansworthy  also  disliked,  extremes  in 
the  matter  of  piety;  she  would  have  been  great- 
ly averse  to  anything  of  the  nature  of  mysti- 
cism, if  she  had  known  more  of  it  than  the  fact 
that  the  dictionary  contained  such  a  word.  She 
objected  to  the  mind  dwelling  on  any  subject 
connected  with  the  thought  of  death,  or  of  the 
unseen  worlds. 

"It  is  much  better,"  she  said,  "and  far  health- 
ier, to  be  moderate  in  all  things.  It  is  a  great 
mistake  to  get  morbid.  It  is  far  better  to  think 
of  those  things  which  are  real;  things  we  can 
see  and  really  deal  with." 

"But  you  go  regularly  to  church,  Lady  Lans- 
worthy," I  said. 

"Of  course !"  she  replied.  "That  is  a  duty  I 
should  never  neglect,  Father  Standish.  But 
you  can  see  a  church,  and  hear  the  prayers  and 
the  singing,  and  the  sermon.  It  is  quite  right  to 


132          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

go  to  church  at  least  once  a  day  on  Sunday. 
And  it  is  very  nice  and  right  to  pray  in  modera- 
tion. What  I  deprecate  are  extremes.  They 
are  always  bad  and  unpractical." 

She  brought  her  niece  to  Brent  one  day  in 
May.  When  I  heard  they  were  in  the  guest- 
house I  went  to  them  at  once.  As  it  was  a  fine 
day,  I  suggested  that  the  Sister  should  see  her 
brother  in  the  garden,  under  the  cedars  on  the 
lawn.  They  agreed  to  this.  Lady  Lansworthy 
said  it  was  quite  wicked  to  be  indoors  on  such  a 
fine  day;  she  would  stroll  in  the  gardens,  if  I 
did  not  mind,  till  her  niece  was  ready  to  leave. 

We  went  to  the  cedars.  Lady  Lansworthy 
left  us,  and  disappeared  among  the  bushes. 

'Monica  Cameron  (for  so  I  always  think  of 
her  still)  sat  on  the  bench  below  the  tree.  Rene 
was  not  far  off.  He  was  cutting  the  grass  with 
a  little  lawn-mower,  and  I  called  to  him. 

He  came  at  once.  I  noticed  he  was  far  less 
abstracted  than  he  used  to  be. 

"Rene,"  said  I,  "I  wonder  whether  you 
would  be  good  enough  to  go  to  the  farm,  find 


A  KNIGHT  OF  HEAVEN         133 

Jesse  Cameron,  and  tell  him  Sister  Mary  Mon- 
ica is  here,  and  he  will  find  her  under  the  cedars 
on  the  guest-house  lawn?" 

"Certainly  I  will,  Father,"  said  Rene. 

He  left  the  lawn  at  once.  I  saw  the  eyes  of 
Monica  follow  him. 

"Father  Anthony,"  she  said,  "what  a  mar- 
vellous face!  It  seems  to  shine  with  white 
light." 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "It  is  a  very  striking 
face  when  it  is  observed  near  at  hand.  He  is  the 
son  of  Sir  James  Clinton." 

"Of  Sir  James  Clinton!"  she  said.  "I  am 
surprised." 

"Why  so?"  I  asked. 

"Lady  Clinton  is  one  of  our  associates,"  said 
she.  "She  is  very  generous  to  our  poor.  I  know 
her.  Aunt  Helen  was  speaking  of  her  as  we 
came;  she  said  they  were  heavily  afflicted  in 
their  only  son;  he  was  mentally  deficient;  and 
you,  with  your  usual  readiness  to  help  those  in 
trouble,  had  made  a  home  for  him  here." 

"That  is  the  young  man  in  question,  Sister," 


134          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

said  I.  "Do  you  think  he  looks  mentally  defi- 
cient?'* 

The  beautiful  nun — Sister  Mary  Monica  is 
very  beautiful — remained  thoughtful  for  a  few 
seconds.  At  last  she  said: 

"I  think  he  is  a  knight  of  Heaven,  Father. 
I  think  he  is  one  of  S.  Michael's  warriors,  bound 
on  a  quest." 

At  that  moment  we  saw  Jesse  coming  to- 
wards the  cedars.  I  rose  and  left  the  brother 
and  sister  together. 

I  intended  to  seek  Lady  Lansworthy  at  once ; 
but  at  that  moment  some  one  brought  me  a 
note  which  needed  an  immediate  answer.  It 
was  not  until  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  later  that  I 
went  to  search  for  her. 

I  looked  in  one  or  two  places  where  I  thought 
she  might  be.  At  last  I  turned  in  the  direction 
of  the  Garden  of  the  Holy  Child.  As  I  drew 
near  Lady  Lansworthy  dashed  out  of  it.  I  use 
the  word  advisedly.  It  was  a  frenzied  dash,  as 
of  one  in  extreme  terror.  She  was  running  at 
full  speed.  She  is  a  woman  of  fifty;  but  she  is 


A  KNIGHT  OF  HEAVEN         135 

very  strong  and  lithe ;  she  plays  golf,  and  skates, 
and  is  still  a  good  horsewoman.  Nevertheless 
she  is  dignified;  and  I  was  surprised  to  see  her 
racing  through  Brent  gardens  like  a  ten-year-old 
girl;  I  could  not  suppose  that  anything  could 
have  happened  to  alarm  her. 

She  rushed  up  to  me,  fell  on  her  knees  before 
me,  and  clung  with  both  hands  to  my  arm. 

"Father  Standish !"  she  screamed.  "O  Father 
Standish !  Monica !  O  help !" 

"Lady  Lans worthy !"  I  exclaimed.  "What 
has  frightened  you*?" 

She  stared  up  at  me ;  her  face  was  drawn  with 
fear;  she  cried  out  hysterically: 

"Show  me  something  that  I  know !  Monica, 
Monica!  Show  me  something  that  I  know!" 

Then  she  went  into  hysterics;  she  screamed, 
laughed  and  cried  at  the  same  time. 

I  was  very  loth  to  disturb  Jesse  and  his  sis- 
ter; for  their  meetings  are  few  and  far  between; 
but  they  heard  her  cries,  and  came  to  us  in  haste. 

Lady  Lansworthy  clutched  her  niece  and 
cried  out: 


136          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"Take  me  away!  Monica,  take  me  away! 
Show  me  something  that  I  know!" 

"You  are  quite  safe,  Aunt  Helen,"  said  Mon- 
ica tenderly.  "All  the  things  you  have  about 
you  are  things  you  know  quite  well.  There's 
nothing  here  strange  or  unfamiliar  to  you. 
Look  for  yourself;  did  you  fall  asleep  and 
dream?' 

"Take  me  away!"  shrieked  her  aunt.  "O 
Monica,  take  me  away!" 

"Yes,  yes,  dear  Aunt  Helen,"  said  Monica. 
"We  will  go  at  once.  Will  you  tell  the  chauf- 
feur, Jesse,  to  bring  the  motor  down  the  drive*? 
— then  we  need  only  cross  the  grass.  Come, 
Aunt  Helen!" 

Jesse  did  as  she  asked  him  to  do.  Monica 
and  I  supported  Lady  Lansworthy  on  either 
side  and  placed  her  in  the  motor.  She  leaned 
back,  closed  her  eyes,  and  clutched  Monica's 
hand. 

"I  will  send  for  the  doctor  the  moment  we 
get  home,"  said  Monica  in  a  low  voice.  "Tell 
the  chauffeur  to  go  quickly.  Good-bye,  dear 


A  KNIGHT  OF  HEAVEN         137 

Jesse.    Good-bye,  Father  Standish.    I  will  send 

a  messenger  with  Dr.  Merton's  report.     Yes, 

Aunt  Helen,  we  are  going." 

For  Lady  Lansworthy  moaned  and  repeated 

her  strange  words : 

"Show  me  something  that  I  know." 

As  the  motor  moved  swiftly  away  we  could 

hear  her  uttering  the  same  entreaty. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  STRIPPED  SOUL 

JESSE  and  I  stared  at  each  other.  The  whole 
thing  moved  so  swiftly  that  we  were  bewil- 
dered. At  last  I  said: 

"Come  along  with  me,  Jesse;  we  must  search 
the  gardens.  We  must  try  to  find  out  what 
startled  Lady  Lansworthy." 

"Where  was  Aunt  Helen  when  she  was 
frightened,  Father*?"  said  Jesse.  "We  ought  to 
go  straight  there." 

"She  was  running  out  of  the  Garden  of  the 
Holy  Child,"  I  replied. 

We  entered  the  little  garden.  No  human 
being  was  there.  The  high  box  hedges  filled 
the  air  with  pungent  perfume,  for  the  sun  was 
drawing  out  the  scent.  We  saw  nothing  save 
the  turf  walks,  the  tall  lily  stalks  on  which 

green  buds  were  appearing,  the  roses,  already 

138 


A  STRIPPED  SOUL  139 

blooming  in  that  sheltered  spot,  a  white  fan- 
tail  pigeon  running  up  and  down  on  little  red 
feet  on  the  old,  lichen-splashed,  grey  stone 
bench ;  two  more  white  pigeons  cooing  upon  the 
roof  of  the  little  shrine  of  the  Mother  and 
Child. 

Nothing  else  save  sunshine,  warm  air,  and 
great  stillness. 

"There  is  nothing  here  to  alarm  the  most 
nervous  person,"  said  I. 

Lady  Lansworthy  was  by  no  means  nervous. 
She  was  vigorous,  matter-of-fact,  and  thorough- 
ly sensible. 

We  searched  the  gardens  through  and 
through,  but  could  find  nothing  that  was  not 
quite  familiar  and  peaceful.  Rene,  who  had 
returned  to  his  grass-cutting;  the  gardener  and 
two  boys  working  in  the  vegetable  garden.  An 
old  priest,  who  was  staying  in  the  guest-house, 
reading  placidly  under  a  pergola  covered  with 
wistaria  and  climbing  roses.  More  pigeons,  the 
white  peacock,  and  a  Persian  kitten  which, 
counterfeiting  great  terror,  tore  up  a  tree  and 


HO  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

spat  at  us.  There  was  nothing  more  alarming 
than  these. 

"It's  a  most  extraordinary  thing,"  I  said. 
"Do  you  think  your  aunt  could  have  been 
dreaming?" 

I  caught  an  expression  on  Jesse's  face  which 
made  me  say : 

"You  have  some  theory,  Jesse?  What  is 
it?" 

"I'm  not  sure  whether  it  is  right  to  give  it, 
Father,"  said  Jesse. 

"Why  not?" 

"Well!  I've  no  business  to  criticise  Aunt 
Helen;  she's  a  downright  good  sort;  she's  as 
honest  as  daylight ;  and  I'm  not  fit  to  black  her 
boots." 

"Well!" 

"She  was  always  as  kind  as  she  could  be  to 
me  when  I  was  a  boy;  and  she  is  very  fond  of 
Monica." 

"But ?"  I  asked. 

"But — "  said  Jesse  slowly,  "you  know  she 
doesn't  live  in  God's  world  at  all.  It  sounds 


A  STRIPPED  SOUL  141 

a  queer,  almost  blasphemous  thing  to  say, 
Father.  Of  course  in  one  sense  it  is  not  true.  I 
mean  she  is  not  aware  of  any  world  save  one 
which  is  purely  man-made.  She  even  sees  na- 
ture from  that  standpoint." 

"How  is  that?' 

"I  have  heard  her  say  what  a  mistake  it  is 
that  nature,  left  to  itself,  does  not  produce  a 
few  big  peaches  on  a  tree  instead  of  a  lot  of 
little  ones.  She  only  looked  at  a  peach-tree,  you 
see,  with  an  eye  to  dessert;  so  that  nature  is  not 
to  her  'the  handmaid  of  the  Lord,'  but  a  sort  of 
'universal  provider'  for  man." 

"Then  what  is  your  theory?" 

"I  think  she  was  suddenly  touched  by  some- 
thing which  was  absolutely  real;  it  cut  all  her 
moorings;  she  was  adrift  and  terrified." 

Monica  kept  her  promise  and  sent  a  messen- 
ger to  Brent  after  the  doctor's  visit.  The  man 
brought  a  letter  from  her.  Monica  said  Lady 
Lansworthy  regained  grip  of  herself  before  she 
reached  home ;  she  sent  for  the  doctor  but  would 
not  let  Monica  see  him  save  in  her  presence. 


142          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

Lady  Lansworthy  herself  told  Dr.  Merton 
she  had  received  a  shock  which  for  a  while  un- 
nerved her.  She  would  not  tell  the  details ;  she 
asked  him  to  give  her  a  sedative  to  calm  her 
nerves  so  that  she  might  sleep. 

The  next  day  she  wrote  to  me  and  asked  me 
for  an  interview.  I  replied  that  I  would  see  her 
most  gladly,  but  I  thought  she  would  be  wise  to 
allow  me  to  visit  her.  Her  answer  was  that  she 
always  maintained  women  had  no  business  to 
give  way  to  their  nerves;  she  was  not  going  to 
shift  her  position  because  the  nerves  in  question 
happened  to  be  her  own.  I  gave  her  an  appoint- 
ment in  accordance  with  this  Spartan  resolu- 
tion, and  she  arrived  punctually.  I  saw  her  in 
my  room  off  the  cloister.  Her  account  of  the 
incident  which  so  unnerved  her  was  as  follows : 

"I  went,"  she  said,  "into  the  little  garden 
which  has  the  box  hedge  all  round  it.  No  one 
was  there.  I  sat  down  on  the  bench,  and 
thought  how  pretty  it  all  was,  and  how  still. 
I  thought,  to  tell  the  truth,  that  you  had  a  very 
easy,  comfortable  life  here.  I  thought  the  men 


A  STRIPPED  SOUL  143 

at  the  'house  of  peace'  were  a  little  shirking 
their  duty  to  society." 

I  smiled. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  "I  was  wrong.  I  know 
it  now.  I  did  not  then.  I  watched  the  pigeons, 
and  thought  I  would  ask  you  to  give  me  a  pair. 
They  look  so  nice,  running  about  on  the  grass. 
Then  I  began  to  think  over  some  of  my  little 
plans.  I  never  go  up  to  town  for  the  season 
now ;  the  girls  are  married ;  and  I  am  getting  to 
be  an  old  woman.  But  I  was  planning  to  go  up 
for  three  or  four  weeks.  I  thought  I  would  stay 
at  a  very  comfortable  little  hotel  I  know;  I 
would  just  see  old  friends,  see  some  pictures, 
go  to  a  few  theatres  and  concerts,  and  get  my- 
self some  clothes.  You  can't  buy  anything  to 
wear  in  Lexminster;  at  least  7  think  not.  I 
never  shop  there  if  I  can  help  it.  I  was  just 
making  these  little  harmless  plans  quietly  and 
comfortably — there  was  no  harm  in  them, 
surely?' 

"Certainly  not.  They  sound  quite  harmless 
and  justifiable," 


144          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

•'Yes — but  then — why  did  it  happen?" 

"What  did  happen,  Lady  Lansworthy?" 

"A  most  extraordinary  feeling  came  over  me. 
A  horrible  feeling!" 

"What  was  it?"  I  asked. 

"It  is  hard  to  describe  it,"  she  said  slowly. 
"It  was  just  as  though  I — a  part  of  me  I  did  not 
seem  to  know,  but  it  was  still  veritably  I — my- 
self— began  to  look  on  at  all  I  was  doing  and 
planning.  Look  at  it  critically,  I  mean." 

"What  then?" 

"Everything  I  knew  or  ever  had  known  was 
just  like  a  marionette  show;  I  could  almost  see 
the  queer  little  strings  that  jerked  the  figures 
about.  Everything  I  thought  was  real,  was  not 
real  at  all.  It  was  perfectly  idiotic.  If  you  can 
imagine  being  on  a  treadmill,  the  revolutions 
of  which,  in  the  nature  of  things,  took  you  no- 
where in  particular,  and  being  there  in  company 
with  a  collection  of  the  ghosts  of  idiots,  that 
would  give  you  some  idea  of  the  feeling  it  pro- 
duced." 

"And  it  was  this  which  frightened  you?" 


A  STRIPPED  SOUL  145 

"No.  This  did  not  frighten  me.  What  fol- 
lowed frightened  me." 

"What  was  it?' 

"It  is  very  hard  to  describe.  I  don't  think  I 
can  do  it." 

"Try." 

"Yes.  I  wish  to  try.  All  that  was  suddenly 
blotted  out.  It  went  in  a  flash.  It  was  blotted 
out  by  something  tremendous.  At  first  it  was 
"  She  paused. 

"It  was  whiteness,"  she  said  at  last.  "It 
was  a  dazzling  whiteness — it — it — burnt  into 
me " 

She  stopped  again  and  looked  at  me  help- 
lessly. 

"You  will  think  me  mad,"  she  said.  "I  say. 
it  was  dazzling  whiteness,  but  I  did  not  see  it. 
How  could  I  know  what  I  did  not  see?  And 
yet  it  was — what  I  tell  you." 

"I  accept  what  you  tell  me,"  I  said  quietly. 
"I  am  not  criticising  nor  doubting." 

"Try  to  imagine,"  she  went  on,  "something 
which  you  could  not  see,  nor  hear,  nor  feel,  and 


146          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

yet  which  was  real,  appallingly  real.  Some- 
thing that  went  down  to  an  unthinkable  depth, 
and  up  to  an  unthinkable  height,  and  yet  there 
was  neither  depth  nor  height,  because  it  had 
nothing  to  do  with  space.  Something  that 
stretched  back  to  an  unthinkable  past,  and  for- 
ward to  an  unthinkable  future,  and  yet  did 
neither,  because  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  time. 
Something  that  was  nearer  than  I  was  to  my- 
self, and  yet  had  nothing  to  do  with  near  or  far. 
It  blotted  everything  out — except  me.  I  was 
not  blotted  out.  I  was  enfolded  in  this  gigantic 
Something.  I  could  not  get  away  from  it;  and 
yet  it  was  the  most  utter  isolation  you  can  im- 
agine, because  I  did  not  know  that  which  held 
me.  It  was  all  there  was;  but  for  me  it  was 
nothing.  It  had  swept  away  everything  I  knew 
anything  about.  It  was  the  only  thing  there 
was  to  know ;  and  I  did  not  know  it  at  all.  Then, 
with  a  most  awful  sense  of  terror  and  desolation, 
there  came  to  me  this  thought:  Creation  has 
gone.  This  in  which  you  are  wrapped  is  Eter- 
nity. There  is  no  Time.  There  is  no  Space. 


A  STRIPPED  SOUL  147 

This  is  Life  uncreated;  and  because  you  know 
nothing  of  it,  for  you  it  is  death  and  desolation. 
Monica  says  you  met  me  running.  I  did  not 
know  I  was  running.  I  did  not  know  I  had 
moved.  I  was  madly  searching  for  something 
— anything — that  I  knew  and  could  recognise. 
Then  I  saw  your  face.  I  clutched  hold  of  you, 
and  I  shrieked  for  Monica." 

She  leaned  forward  at  this  point;  she  laid 
her  hand  on  my  arm  and  gripped  it. 

"You,  who  know  something  I  do  not  know," 
she  said;  "you,  who  are  citizen  of  a  country  in 
which  I  have  just  learned  I  am  an  alien,  tell  me 
this:  When  the  fashion  of  this  world  passes 
wholly  away,  can  we  know  that  enfolding 
Life?' 

"We  can,"  I  answered.  "Because  that  en- 
folding Life  has  come  to  meet  us  here,  and  His 
Name  is  Love.  We  can  know  God  here  and 
now,  because  we  have  in  us  that  which  is  like 
unto  Him;  and  because  one  of  the  Powers  of 
His  Nature  is  Humanity.  He  has  shown  Him- 
self as  Man,  that  He  might  destroy  the  evil 


148  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

which  hides  from  us  that  truth,  and  be  for  us 
the  Bridge  to  knowledge.  In  Eternity  His 
Manhood  abides,  enfolded,  as  you  were,  in  His 
Boundless  Life." 

"But,"  she  said  in  a  faltering  voice,  "we  must 
learn  now  *?  We  must  begin  to  know  now  ?" 

"If  we  are  wise,"  said  I,  "we  shall  begin 
now." 

This  is  the  story  which,  with  Lady  Lans- 
worthy's  consent,  I  include  in  the  story  of  Rene. 
Alison  said  Forbes  was  touched  by  the  sword  of 
the  great  Archangel  whose  name  betokens  "Who 
like  God."  Monica  called  Rene  one  of  his  war- 
riors. Perhaps  Lady  Lansworthy,  too,  was 
touched  and  fired  by  his  flaming  sword.  It  cer- 
tainly helped  to  effect  in  her  the  thing  she  once 
so  much  deprecated — a  revolution. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CHANGES  AT  BRENT 

IF  I  were  to  say  that  the  autumn  of  1914 
brought  no  changes  to  Brent,  I  shall  be  misun- 
derstood. Those  who  know  the  place  will  say 
my  statement  is  not  true.  Those  who  do  not 
know  it  will  say  if  it  is  true  it  ought  not  to  be 
so.  They  will  both  of  them  be  right. 

Therefore  in  making  such  a  statement — for 
I  do  make  it — I  must  try  to  explain  my  mean- 
ing. 

The  heart  of  the  place  did  not  change,  simply 
because  it  could  not  do  so.  I  want  to  make 
this  specially  clear,  because,  if  I  do  not,  the 
meaning  of  Rene  Clinton's  life,  the  very  core  of 
its  mystery,  will  be  missed  and  utterly  misun- 
derstood. Every  life,  I  suppose,  has  its  secret, 
its  mystery,  its  inner  meaning  and  purpose. 

Rene's  was  no  more  mysterious  than  any  other. 
149 


150          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

But  it  is  the  one  I  have  undertaken  to  explain ; 
if  I  can  do  so,  which  I  sometimes  doubt. 

The  whole  reason  for  the  slow  building  and 
establishment  throughout  the  earth  of  places 
like  Brent,  is  precisely  that  they  may  not  change 
in  times  of  crisis,  when  the  rest  of  the  world 
rocks,  and  the  minds  of  men  are  shaken. 

It  is  in  order  to  maintain  a  balance,  and  es- 
tablish a  pivot  round  which  powers  of  good  and 
evil  may  reel  in  a  death-grapple.  In  such  places 
the  Power  of  God  is  poured  out  through  angels 
and  men  elected  for  such  world-service. 

Brent,  then,  did  not  change,  and  has  not 
changed.  But  the  visible  working  of  the  place 
was  altered  in  some  measure. 

In  the  third  week  of  August  of  that  year, 
my  dear  son,  Jesse  Cameron,  went  away.  He 
and  I  alike  believed  he  did  the  Will  which  was 
his  law.  He  went  away,  and  it  was  a  blow  to 
the  farm,  for  he  was  a  good  bailiff,  and  was  my 
right  hand  in  all  the  outdoor  work. 

It  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  when  he 
went  he  would  draw  after  him  the  four  farm 


CHANGES  AT  BRENT          151 

pupils,  and  practically  all  the  young  men  of  this 
small  village;  Jesse's  was  a  name  to  conjure 
them  by. 

Anderson,  a  middle-aged  man,  took  Jesse's 
place,  and  the  farm  boys  etayed  where  they 
were. 

Our  little  company  of  the  house  of  peace 
began,  like  monks  both  of  the  past  and  the 
present,  to  labour  on  the  land.  They  are  not 
monks,  as  you  know;  they  are  all  unvowed. 
They  are  men  called  of  God  to  surrender  their 
lives  to  Him,  chiefly  in  the  way  of  prayer  and 
meditation ;  and  they  do  such  other  work  to  His 
Glory  as  He  has  given  them  capacity  for  doing. 
They  are  all  laymen. 

David  Alison  remained  with  us.  For  this  I 
was  grateful ;  for  thereby  he  solved  a  practical 
difficulty. 

Anderson  is,  as  he  says,  "no  scholar."  The 
farm  accounts  were  a  terror  to  him.  Alison 
took  them  off  his  hands.  Moreover,  class  dis- 
tinctions loom  large  in  the  eyes  of  Anderson. 
He  told  me  when  I  engaged  him  that  he  "leaned 


THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

very  much  to  the  gentry."  When  he  learned 
that  "the  gentlemen,"  as  he  calls  the  sojourners 
in  the  house  of  peace,  were  going  to  lend  a  hand 
on  the  farm,  this  "leaning"  caused  him  to  be 
struck  with  an  awe  so  great,  that  reverence  for- 
bade him  to  point  out  their  mistakes  and  stu- 
pidities. 

He  could  severely  reprove  error  in  little  Dick 
Jones  from  the  village,  but  he  could  not  even 
mention  it  to  Rene  Clinton  or  Gereth  Fenton. 
Consequently  they  had  no  chance  of  learning 
what  it  was  needful  for  them  to  know  if  they 
were  to  be  of  any  use. 

Here  Alison  was  very  useful.  As  you  know, 
he  has  a  reputation  as  a  writer  on  matters  touch- 
ing country  life  and  nature.  He  has  great  sub- 
tlety and  delicacy  of  observation.  Living  here, 
as  he  has  done  for  many  years,  and  making  a 
close  study  of  all  matters  pertaining  to  his 
craft,  he  has,  by  watching  the  farming  opera- 
tions at  all  seasons,  and  the  life  of  men  living 
on  the  land  and  by  the  land,  gained  a  real, 
though  theoretical,  knowledge  of  such  matters. 


CHANGES  AT  BRENT  153 

It  is  real,  because  it  is  obtained  at  first  hand, 
and  not  from  books  or  in  a  lecture  room.  It  is 
theoretical,  because  he  has  never  worked  on  the 
farm  himself. 

He  knows  what  should  or  should  not  be  done, 
and  the  way  to  carry  out  all  farming  operations, 
as  well  as  Anderson  himself  does.  Hence  he 
made  a  useful  bridge  between  the  awestruck 
farm  bailiff  and  the  distinguished  neophytes. 

Gereth  Fenton  did  his  best  to  help.  He  told 
me  he  found  the  work  was  no  hindrance  to  the 
steady  current  of  his  prayer,  so  long  as  he 
worked  silently. 

He  was  not  really  adapted  for  the  work;  the 
others  did  better  than  he.  All  were  willing  and 
anxious  to  save  expense,  and  help  on  the  work 
Jesse  Cameron  built  up  during  the  years  of  his 
long  penance. 

But  Rene  was  really  valuable.  For  one 
thing,  he  had  an  extraordinary  aptitude  for 
dealing  with  the  animals.  He  was  the  best 
milker  on  the  farm;  no  cow,  however  ill-tem- 
pered or  nervous,  refused  to  "give  down  her 


154          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

milk"  in  response  to  the  touch  of  Rene's  slen- 
der, supple  fingers.  He  taught  the  infant  calves 
to  drink,  as  though  by  magic.  The  prize  bull, 
whose  temper  was  commonly  uncertain  to  his 
friends,  and  a  continual  menace  to  strangers, 
became  quite  philanthropic  in  his  mood  under 
Rene's  guidance. 

Rene  never  had  to  drive  the  sheep,  or  call 
upon  the  dog  to  round  them  up.  He  led  them. 
In  changing  pastures,  Rene  walked  before  his 
flock,  whistling  a  little  tune  which  seemed  to 
appeal  to  their  musical  taste ;  the  sheep  scuffled 
softly  along  after  him  with  their  lambs.  With 
horses,  too,  he  could  do  anything;  and  Ander- 
son's savage  dog  was,  with  him,  quite  gentle. 
He  came  up  to  the  farm,  whenever  he  got  loose, 
to  look  for  Rene*,  and  followed  him  to  and  fro; 
he  would  lie  at  his  feet;  growling  when  any  one 
else  came  near.  Rene  rarely  took  any  notice  of 
him,  save  when  the  dog  pushed  him  with  his 
head,  or  thrust  his  muzzle  into  his  hand,  asking 
for  some  recognition. 

So  we  went  forward  during  those  years  of 


CHANGES  AT  BRENT  155 

the  world's  agony.  We  maintained  our  watch 
night  and  day  in  the  chapel;  and  we  laboured 
with  our  hands.  We  ploughed,  sowed,  reaped ; 
we  grew  vegetables  and  fruit  in  greater  abun- 
dance than  ever.  The  poultry  yard  enlarged  its 
borders.  The  flocks  and  herds  throve.  Our 
bees  hummed  and  droned  in  the  purple  heather 
and  ling,  and  we  took  honey  at  the  appointed 
hour.  The  open  Forest  was  a  sheet  of  heather, 
over  which  the  hot  air  shimmered  and  drove  in 
gleaming  waves ;  therefore  we  had  great  store  of 
heather  honey.  The  apples  shone  on  the  or- 
chard boughs;  and  were  stacked  later  on  the 
grass  in  great  heaps — scarlet-crimson,  crimson, 
yellow,  and  russet-brown. 

The  fruitful  earth,  with  room  for  all  to  live 
at  peace,  with  rich  abundance  of  food  sufficient 
for  the  reasonable  needs  of  all  men ! 

During  the  hard  winter  of  1916  the  earth  lay 
buried  in  snow,  and  many  of  the  Forest  ponies 
died.  But  when  spring  came  again  with  spring- 
ing blades  of  young  corn,  when  the  swallows  re- 
turned, and  the  open  Forest  was  rosy  with  bios- 


156          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

soming  bog  myrtle  and  snowy  with  bog  cotton, 
we  remembered  not  the  cold  and  death,  but  only 
recalled  the  holy  whiteness  of  the  snow-bound 
land,  and  the  solemn  crying  and  chanting  of  the 
wind  in  the  pines,  when  even  the  owls  were  si- 
lent in  the  bitter  frost,  and  every  pool  and 
streamlet  like  iron. 

During  those  years  I  threw  open  the  doors 
of  the  guest-house  and  vicarage  to  all  who  had 
suffered  or  were  suffering  in  body  or  mind,  if 
they  cared  to  enter  in  and  seek  rest,  comfort, 
and  healing.  I  ministered  to  them  so  far  as  in 
me  lay. 

Many  did  enter,  and  found  what  they 
sought;  for  the  peace  of  the  place  waxed 
mightily.  It  waxed  in  proportion  to  the  storm 
without.  He  Who  abode  with  us  gave  in  abun- 
dance of  Himself;  and  the  very  trees  and  earth 
seemed  to  pour  forth  balm. 


CHAPTER  XV 

LADY  CLINTON   COMES  TO  BRENT 

IN  the  summer  of  1916  Lady  Clinton  came  to 
Brent  to  see  Rene.  She  came  to  stay  with  Lady 
Lansworthy. 

Lady  Clinton  often  came  to  see  her  son;  I 
think  she  came  three  or  four  times  a  year.  His 
father  never  came.  Lady  Clinton  said  he  felt 
the  pain  of  his  disappointment  more  intensely 
than  formerly.  He  shrank  from  it  more.  He 
could  in  some  degree  forget  Rene  if  he  did  not 
see  him;  he  could  almost  think  of  him  as  one 
dead,  and  he  found  that  more  endurable.  But 
to  visit  him  and  endure  the  memory  of  the  hopes 
he  once  cherished  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  not  only  did 
Clinton  utterly  scout  the  view  I  held  concern- 
ing his  son,  but  he  had  really  great  reason  to  dis- 
believe it.  Not  only  was  the  attitude  of  mind, 


158          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

which  made  it  possible  for  me  to  think  of  Rene 
as  I  did,  utterly  opposed  to  his  own  habitual  at- 
titude, but  there  was  real  and  solid  evidence 
available  that  I  was  mistaken. 

To  begin  with,  the  existence  of  a  living,  ac- 
tive, potent,  conscious  world  which  was  imma- 
terial, was  to  him  a  mere  fairy-tale.  I  know 
very  many  to  whom  such  a  world  is  theoreti- 
cally a  fact,  to  whom  it  is  practically  as  unreal 
as  it  was  to  Sir  James  Clinton,  who  denied  its 
existence.  There  are  people  who,  while  affirm- 
ing such  a  world  exists,  will  clutch  almost 
eagerly  at  any  pretext  for  denying  the  reality  of 
its  operations  and  its  influences  when  evidence 
of  either  crosses  their  path. 

But  the  strongest  reason  which  Clinton  had 
for  rejecting  my  view  lay  in  the  fact  that  Rene, 
as  we  know  him  at  Brent,  was  practically  non- 
existent for  both  his  parents.  Rene,  as  I  knew 
him  when,  on  rare  occasions,  he  tried  to  put  into 
words  his  sense  of  the  reality  of  the  Life  which 
claimed  him,  was  absolutely  non-existent  for 


LADY  CLINTON  AT  BRENT    159 

his  father.  His  parents  could  not  respond  to 
him;  he  could  not  express  himself  to  them. 

I  believe  it  to  be  true  that  the  conditions, 
both  of  space  and  time,  under  which  they  lived 
actually  differed  as  far  as  their  consciousness 
was  concerned. 

During  the  years  in  which  Rene  lived  at 
Brent  I  saw  he  was  growing  to  be  far  less  ab- 
stracted. This  does  not  apply  to  some  occa- 
sions of  special  and  intense  absorption.  His 
environment  was  suited  to  his  inner  state.  He 
could  express  himself  in  it.  When  his  surround- 
ings, especially  as  regards  the  trend  of  thought, 
were  quite  incapable  of  harmonising  with  that 
which  was  going  on  in  his  mind  and  soul,  he 
was  in  a  state  of  bewilderment,  and  apparent 
unintelligence.  It  was  simply  because  all  that 
was  within  was  pent  up.  It  could  not  express 
itself,  any  more  than  clear  water  could  pour  out 
freely  through  a  wall  of  stiff  clay.  It  was, 
.therefore,  natural  that  Sir  James  Clinton 
should  think  my  theory  a  fantastic  imagination ; 
I  think  it  shows  his  kindly  and  just  nature  tha/ 


160          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

he  should  have  yielded  in  the  matter  and  al- 
lowed Rene  to  remain  with  me ;  for  there  is  no 
doubt  he  disliked  to  do  so. 

The  periodical  visits  of  the  poor  mother  were 
an  exquisite  pain  to  her.  I  think  they  were  also 
an  acute  suffering  to  Rene. 

When  she  was  away  from  him  she  believed  I 
was  right.  She  longed  to  believe  it,  and  it  be- 
came for  her  truth.  But  when  she  came  to 
Brent,  having  built  up  an  image  of  Rene  as  I 
thought  of  him  in  her  mind,  and  found  him  in- 
articulate and  confused  in  speech,  she  began  to 
doubt. 

Her  mother-love  brought  her  to  Brent.  Her 
mother's  heart  craved  to  understand  her  boy, 
and  when  she  failed  to  do  so  she  suffered  in- 
tensely. Rene,  knowing  she  suffered  and  pow- 
erless to  help  her,  was  tortured  too.  It  was  very 
pitiful  to  see.  She  was  a  good-hearted  and  gen- 
erous woman.  She  had  much  natural  compas- 
sion for  the  needy  and  suffering.  But  I  think 
the  reason  she  became  an  associate  of  the  Com- 
munity to  which  Monica  belonged,  was  because 


LADY  CLINTON  AT  BRENT     161 

she  thought  she  might  gain  something  which 
would  help  her  to  understand  Rene. 

She  dreamed  of  some  deepening  of  her  inner 
life  which  would  open  a  door  of  illumination 
for  her. 

I  think  Lady  Lansworthy  helped  her.  Lady 
Lansworthy,  who  was  now  the  leading  spirit  in 
all  the  patriotic  works  undertaken  by  the 
women  of  the  neighbourhood,  remained  out- 
wardly much  as  she  used  to  be.  She  was  a 
good-natured,  sensible  woman  of  the  world,  ex- 
tremely practical  and  competent.  Inwardly  she 
was  not  the  same;  the  revolution  had  been 
thorough. 

The  searching  depth  and  reality  of  that  ex- 
perience in  the  garden,  the  stripping  of  soul  she 
underwent  there,  made  her  a  different  woman. 
Something  woke  in  her  which  never  slept  again. 
Her  absolute  certainty  of  the  existence  of  some- 
thing which  lay  beneath  and  beyond  all  vicissi- 
tudes of  time  and  space,  communicated  itself 
to  Rene's  mother.  It  made  her  feel  a  vague 
comfort;  and  a  strength  which  gripped  her 


162          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

tremulous  thought  and  doubting  mind  and 
steadied  them. 

All  genuine  spiritual  experience,  whatever 
form  it  may  take  in  the  consciousness  of  those 
who  receive  it,  gives  a  power  of  carrying  at  any 
rate  temporary  conviction  to  minds  which  are 
not  absolutely  closed  against  it.  Sometimes  it 
may  cause  antagonism,  but  that  is  because  its 
truth  is  felt,  and  for  some  reason  resented. 

When  Lady  Clinton  came  to  Brent  in  June, 
1916,  she  was  happier  concerning  Rene  than  I 
had  seen  her.  I  think  this  was  partly  due  to 
Lady  Lansworthy,  who,  it  appeared,  told  Lady 
Clinton  her  firm  conviction  that  my  view  was 
the  one  to  be  received  as  the  truth. 

But  when  I  saw  Lady  Clinton  after  her  inter- 
view with  her  son,  I  knew  at  once  that  she  was 
troubled  and  full  of  doubts.  I  did  not  speak 
of  Rene,  nor  ask  her  opinion  concerning  any- 
thing at  Brent.  I  asked  after  Sir  James  Clin- 
ton and  her  daughters. 

"Margaret  is  very  well,"  she  said,  "and,  of 
course,  immensely  busy.  Jane  is  in  America, 


LADY  CLINTON  AT  BRENT     163 

naturally,  with  her  husband,  and  her  children. 
She  has  two  such  charming  babies." 

"And  Sir  James?"  I  asked. 

"My  husband  is  working  terribly  hard,"  she 
replied.  "He  is  working  at  such  high  pressure. 
I  fear  he  will  break  down.  He  is  a  strong  man ; 
but  there  is  a  limit  to  all  things.  He  allows 
himself  very  little  sleep." 

"Some  people  require  very  little,  you  know," 
I  said. 

"I  think  he  requires  more  than  he  gets,"  she 
answered.  "He  is  working  feverishly  hard.  I 
sometimes  think  he  does  it  because  he  dares  not 
give  himself  time  to  think." 

We  were  sitting  in  the  guest-house  when  she 
said  this.  She  was  about  to  leave.  Rene  had 
gone  to  cut  some  roses  for  her. 

"I  believe  many  feel  that  they  dare  not 
think,"  I  said.  "Hence  they  give  themselves 
no  time,  but  work  till  they  are  tired  enough  to 
ensure  sleep.  But  I  think  they  are  not  wise." 

"I  know  the  feeling  myself,"  she  answered. 
"I  should  like  to  work  till  I  dropped.  But  that 


164          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

would  trouble  my  husband  and  Margaret.  I 
dare  not  think  about  Rene  after  I  have  seen 
him." 

"Why  not?"  I  said. 

"It  is  such  an  utter  puzzle  to  me,"  she  re- 
plied. "Why  could  he  not  have  led  a  good  life 
— even  a  holy,  consecrated  life — without  being 
cut  off  like  this  from  all  we  planned  for  him? 
My  husband  would  have  been  sorry,  but  if 
Rene  had  wished  to  live  here  like  Mr.  Fenton 
he  would  not  have  opposed  it.  It  would  not  be 
the  agony  to  him  it  is." 

I  pointed  out  to  her  certain  things  such  as  I 
have  set  down  here,  showing  there  was  some  evi- 
dence that  Rene's  life  was  not  wholly  ineffec- 
tive, though  its  effects  were  produced  in  a  dif- 
ferent field  of  action  from  that  his  father  would 
have  chosen  for  him. 

She  sighed. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "but  all  that  seems  to 
me  so  utterly  unreal,  Father  Standish.  It — you 
won't  think  me  rude — it  is  all  like  a  fairy  tale 
to  me," 


LADY  CLINTON  AT  BRENT     165 

Rene  came  in  just  then  with  the  roses.  She 
took  them,  kissed  him  very  tenderly,  and  went 
back  to  Lexminster  to  Lady  Lansworthy. 

I  could  see  that  Rene,  too,  was  very  sad.  She 
had  tried  hard  to  get  into  touch  with  him ;  and 
he  tried  to  talk  with  her  as  he  did  sometimes 
with  me.  Both  failed ;  he  was  not  able  to  speak 
freely;  he  seemed  to  be  paralysed  in  thought; 
and  what  little  he  said  was  an  unknown  tongue 
to  her. 

I  think  the  fact  that  he  was  working  on  the 
farm  gave  her  an  added  pain.  She  did  not 
realise  that  high  work  is  the  task  God  gives,  and 
low  that  which  we  take  for  ourselves  in  defiance 
of  Him. 

If  Rene  had  chosen  to  come  to  Brent  as  a 
farm  pupil,  or  said  he  wished  to  farm  in  Can- 
ada or  ranch  in  California,  she  would  have 
been  willing  he  should  do  so.  If  he  was  now 
working  on  the  land  because  of  his  country's 
need,  that  would  have  satisfied  her.  But  to  feel 
that  the  only  thing  he  could  do  was  simple 


166          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

manual  work,  such  as  a  boy  from  Brent  village 
could  do  easily,  gave  her  a  pang. 

It  is  true  that  Rene's  skill  with  beasts  was  his 
own  peculiar  gift ;  but  his  mother  did  not  realise 
this ;  nor  did  she  know  its  significance. 

She  stayed  for  a  week  with  Lady  Lanswor- 
thy,  and  visited  Brent  thrice. 

On  her  second  visit  she  was  much  depressed. 
When  she  came  the  third  time  the  gloom  was 
gone.  She  told  Rene  she  wanted  to  have  a  talk 
with  me  alone,  and  when  he  left  us  she  spoke 
freely. 

To  me  that  which  she  said  is  as  much  a  ques- 
tion of  supernatural  dealing  as  the  more  start- 
ling things  which  came  to  pass  with  regard  to 
Lester,  Forbes,  and  Lady  Lansworthy.  But  it 
took  a  quiet,  gentle  form. 

She  went  into  Lexminster  with  Lady  Lans- 
worthy, who  was  going  to  the  hospital.  Lex- 
minster  is  a  quaint  old  town,  lying  at  the  foot 
of  great  downs  which  curve  smoothly  away, 
slope  upon  slope,  tier  upon  tier,  towards  the  sea. 

There  is  in  it  a  large  quiet  old  church,  S. 


LADY  CLINTON  AT  BRENT     167 

Itys-in-the-Wall.  Legend  says  its  patron  was  a 
recluse  who  had  a  little  chamber  in  the  city 
wall,  which  wall  has  long  since  crumbled  away. 
However  that  may  be,  the  peace  of  the  good 
hermit  abides  in  the  church  to  this  day,  and  I 
trust  the  worshippers  yet  have  the  help  of  his 
prayers. 

Lady  Clinton,  waiting  for  her  hostess,  went 
into  the  big,  cool  old  church,  and  sat  there, 
while  her  sad,  puzzled  mind  reviewed  her  own 
sorrows  and  those  of  her  friends. 

"Gradually,"  she  said  to  me,  "the  great  hush 
of  the  place,  the  dim  light,  and  the  sight  of  the 
tall  grey  pillars  stretching  up  into  the  shadows 
of  the  roof,  seemed  to  soothe  me  a  little.  But 
my  mind  was  very  much  puzzled.  Suddenly  it 
was  just  as  though  some  very  patient,  gentle 
person  began  to  rearrange  my  ideas  for  me.  It 
was  as  though  my  mind  was  not  myself,  but  a 
machine  which  I  had  got  badly  out  of  order.  It 
was  being  gently  set  right,  by  some  one  who  un- 
derstood the  machine,  and  could  deal  with  it. 
I  began  to  see  a  great  Plan ;  I  began  to  see  how 


168          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

people  were  being  used  to  further  it,  and  were 
also  being  dealt  with  as  individuals,  with  the 
most  astounding  skill,  patience,  and  wisdom. 
It  was  a  real,  careful,  personal  dealing  with 
each  one.  Wonderful!  This  gentle  explana- 
tory process  went  on  in  my  mind  till  we  reached 
Rene.  There  it  stopped!  There  came  no  ex- 
planation of  Rene.  The  puzzle  remained.  The 
matter  was  just  laid  down  at  that  point;  I  was 
so  afraid  I  should  lose  the  clearness  and  quie- 
tude that  I  got  up  and  left  the  church." 

"Has  the  quietude  remained*?"  I  said. 

"Yes.  But  to-day  I  gained  more.  I  drove  to 
Brent  village  in  a  little  pony-cart,  left  the  cart 
in  the  village  and  walked  through  the  woods  to 
the  little  chapel — Mr.  Cameron's  little  In 
Memoriam  chapel  among  the  pines." 

"The  shrine  of  our  Lady  of  Light1?" 

"Yes.  I  went  in  there  and  sat  down.  The 
peace  and  balance  of  my  mind  remained,  but 
the  puzzle  was  there  too.  Rene  had  not  been 
explained.  I  saw  a  little  barefooted  girl  in  a 
very  faded  blue  cotton  dress  coming  towards 


LADY  CLINTON  AT  BRENT     169 

the  chapel.  She  was  a  little  sunburnt  thing, 
with  sandy  hair.  She  had  a  big  sheaf  of  white 
fox-gloves  under  one  arm;  and  she  held  in  her 
hand  a  dull  blue  jar  full  of  water,  which  she 
was  carrying  very  carefully." 

"It  was  little  Maisie  Anderson,"  I  said,  "a 
little  village  girl  who  adores  Jesse  Cameron. 
She  goes  up  there  and  says  a  prayer  for  him 
every  day,  and  puts  some  flowers  as  an  offering 
to  the  Holy  Mother." 

"She  did  that  now.  She  arranged  her  fox- 
gloves very  carefully  in  the  jar;  she  placed  the 
jar  at  the  foot  of  the  statue  of  our  Lady  which 
is  at  the  door.  Then  she  knelt  down,  folded  her 
little  sunburnt  hands,  and  said  her  prayer.  It 
was  then,  through  the  child's  prayer,  that  a 
thought  came  to  me.  It  was  this :  'A  message 
from  a  Woman  to  a  woman;  "I,  too,  was 
amazed,  and  sought  My  Son  sorrowing." 
There  and  then,  Father  Standish,  I  was  content 
to  be  puzzled;  and  there  and  then,  being  con- 
tent, bewilderment  became  rest." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  GUARDIAN  OF  BRENT  CHURCH 

DURING  the  last  week  of  September,  1916,  a 
young  priest  came  to  Brent.  He  was  a  mem- 
ber of  a  Community,  and  he  was  en  route  for 
France.  He  has  great  skill  as  an  artist.  He 
said  to  me  that  he  should  like  to  paint  the  in- 
terior of  the  village  church.  That  church  is 
dedicated  to  S.  Michael. 

The  priest  said  he  wanted  to  give  the  sketch 
to  his  mother.  She  has  a  great  love  for  the 
church,  it  seems;  she  used  to  stay  in  Brent  vil- 
lage when  she  was  a  young  girl ;  I  think  she  met 
the  man  she  married  when  on  one  of  these  visits, 
and  had  memories  of  the  church  which  were  con- 
nected with  him.  She  has  also  a  special  devo- 
tion for  the  Archangel  Patron. 

I  think,  though  he  did  not  say  so,  that  this 

young  priest  was  specially  anxious  to  leave 

170 


THE  GUARDIAN  171 

something  for  his  mother,  which  he  had  painted 
just  before  he  went  away;  since  he  felt  it  might 
be  his  last  gift  to  her. 

The  village  church  at  Brent  is  small.  It  is 
very  ancient  and  rather  dark.  There  is  an  old 
rood  beam,  on  which  the  Figures  have  now  been 
replaced.  Those  of  our  Lady  and  S.  John  are 
singularly  beautiful.  The  grief-stricken  figure 
of  the  Mother  stands  with  bowed  head,  and 
helplessly  drooping  hands;  the  sword  has 
pierced  to  the  very  centre  of  the  stricken  soul. 
But  the  Beloved  Disciple  is  gazing  in  ecstasy 
on  the  Figure  of  the  Crucified;  his  eyes — the 
eyes  of  the  seer  of  Patmos — are  piercing,  eagle- 
like,  beyond  the  veil ;  and  in  the  Crucified  Man 
he  sees  the  Word,  eternal  and  triumphant  in 
the  Bosom  of  the  Father.  It  is  a  very  fine  piece 
of  work,  and  has  a  wonderful  life  and  power  in 
it.  The  church  has  a  low  doorway.  There  is  in 
the  chancel  an  old  tomb — the  tomb  of  a  Cru- 
sader. 

This  young  priest — my  guest — has  special 
skill  in  painting  the  interiors  of  churches.  He 


172          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

proposed  to  sketch  the  altar  and  the  east  win- 
dow, in  which  there  is  some  old  glass  and  some 
beautiful  stone  tracery. 

It  was  the  Feast  of  S.  Michael,  our  Patron; 
and  we  had  a  Sung  Mass  in  the  church  at  eight 
o'clock.  The  young  priest,  who  had  said  Mass 
at  seven  in  the  chapel,  served  at  the  eight  o'clock 
Mass  in  the  Church  of  S.  Michael.  When  I 
left  the  church  he  was  still  there.  He  came 
back  to  breakfast,  which  is  with  us  a  silent  meal. 
He  went  to  the  church  with  his  painting  ma- 
terials immediately  after  breakfast. 

I  saw  him  no  more  till  the  evening.  I  sup- 
posed his  artistic  frenzy  replaced  meat  and 
drink. 

When  he  did  come  back  his  eyes  looked 
dazed,  as  though  he  had  been  staring  at  the 
sun. 

"Have  you  sketched  the  church*?"  said  I. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  have  not  sketched  the 
church.  I  have  been  in  the  porch  trying  to 
paint  from  memory — something  else." 


THE  GUARDIAN  173 

"I  thought  you  particularly  .wanted  a  sketch 
of  that  church  for  your  mother,"  I  said. 

"So  I  do,"  he  answered.  "I  will  try  to  make 
one  to-morrow  for  her.  This  one  I  shall  leave 
here  with  you,  if  you  will  have  it.  You  can 
do  with  it  what  you  please." 

He  took  the  sketch  out,  and  held  it  for  a 
few  minutes  without  showing  it  to  me. 

"I  saw  this,"  he  said  slowly,  "just  as  I  had 
got  my  easel  into  position  and  was  going  to 
begin.  I  do  not  know  in  the  least  how  long  I 
saw  it.  I  know  I  fell  on  my  knees  and  re- 
mained there  for  a  long  time  after  it  all  van- 
ished." 

With  these  words  he  handed  me  the  sketch. 

At  first  I  thought  it  was  nothing  save  white- 
ness. Then  I  saw  the  chancel  was  sketched 
there;  it  was  very  faintly  indicated.  But  the 
altar  and  the  window  were  invisible.  They 
were  hidden — blotted  out — by  a  turmoil  of 
white  light.  The  artist  had  shown  great  skill 
in  giving  the  impression  of  intense,  dazzling 


174  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

and  pure  whiteness,  and  an  extraordinary  radi- 
ance and  activity. 

Very  faintly  outlined — scarcely  visible  in- 
deed— in  the  centre  of  the  light  was  a  tall 
figure.  It  was  a  man  in  white  armour,  with  a 
drawn  sword,  cross-handled  and  flashing,  in  his 
hand.  Such  was  the  life  of  the  sketch  that  it 
seemed  to  move;  the  light  appeared  to  pass  in 
billows  over  the  figure,  so  that  the  face  was 
hidden  by  it. 

I  looked  at  the  picture  for  a  long  time  be- 
fore I  spoke.  This  recurrent  idea  of  whiteness 
struck  me;  I  lingered  over  the  sketch,  search- 
ing out  all  the  significance  of  the  recurrence. 

"You  saw  this?"  I  asked  at  last. 

"I  saw  it,"  he  answered.  "This  only  sug- 
gests what  I  saw.  It  was  the  Glory  that  veils 
the  Presence,  and  the  angel  who  guards  It." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SIR   JAMES    CLINTON    COMES   TO    BRENT 

THE  harvest  of  1917  was  a  good  and  early  one 
at  Brent.  The  fields,  which  we  then  knew 
Jesse  Cameron  would  never  reap  again,  bore 
fruitfully.  When  our  corn  was  garnered, 
preparatory  to  thrashing,  that  is  to  say  just  be- 
fore the  last  week  in  August,  there  came  to  us 
a  little  appeal,  a  cry  for  help. 

It  came  from  an  old  farmer  who  rented  a 
farm  beyond  Lexminister.  It  was  eight  miles 
from  Brent  village.  It  lay,  tucked  away  in  a 
fold  of  the  downs,  very  close  to  the  sea. 

The  farmer's  sons  all  left  him  years  ago  for 
work  in  town.  But  he  had  worked  his  land 
with  hired  help  up  to  now.  Labour,  he  said, 
was  scarce ;  the  men  that  were  left  were  claimed 
by  other  farmers.  He  asked  whether  we  would 
lend  him  a  hand  to  get  in  his  harvest.  He  also 
175 


176  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

made  a  personal  appeal  to  me  to  come  over 
and  see  his  eldest  daughter.  She,  poor  girl, 
was  in  great  sorrow.  Her  husband  was  a  Brent 
man,  and  I  knew  him  well.  When  he  went 
away  she  returned  to  her  father's  house.  Now 
she  was  a  widow  with  a  young  baby,  and  in 
great  distress  of  mind  and  feebleness  of  body. 
The  old  man,  her  father,  askecl  me  to  come 
"and  comfort  her  a  bit." 

Alison  and  Rene  said  they  would  go  over 
and  lend  a  hand  in  the  harvest  field.  It  was 
settled  they  should  work  there  for  three  days, 
and  I  should  go  there  on  the  second  day — • 
I  could  not  well  leave  Brent  before  then — and 
return  with  them  the  next  evening.  They 
started  before  daybreak  on  September  the  third. 
On  the  day  I  was  to  join  them — the  fourth — 
I  found  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  start 
until  late  in  the  day.  Both  the  guest-house 
and  vicarage  were  filled  with  those  who  had 
need  of  me. 

I  intended  to  walk  the  eight  miles  through 
the  Forest  and  over  the  Downs ;  for  despite  my 


SIR  JAMES  CLINTON  COMES     177 

sixty-one  years  I  was  capable  of  much  more 
bodily  exertion  than  that.  We  have  never  had 
a  motor  here ;  and  the  pony  was  needed  by  my 
guests.  Therefore  I  determined  to  walk,  and 
was  looking  forward  to  the  quiet  solitary  jour- 
ney through  the  pine  forest  and  over  the  still 

bare  downs. 

I 

As  the  day  wore  on  I  saw  I  should  possibly 
not  reach  the  farm  till  dusk.  It  was  obvious 
I  should  not  be  able  to  start  on  my  way  till 
towards  evening,  so  that,  in  spite  of  "summer 
time"  the  sun  would  probably  be  setting  before 
I  reached  the  farm.  I  am  a  steady,  but  no 
longer  a  swift  walker.  But  even  if  I  could  not 
start  till  evening  was  come,  there  would,  I 
knew,  be  a  moon ;  therefore  I  could  find  my  way 
easily  across  the  Downs.  Since  I  was  to  stay 
the  night  and  spend  the  day  there,  I  could  see 
and  try  to  comfort  the  poor  young  widow  the 
next  morning,  if  I  was  too  late  to  talk  much 
with  her  on  my  arrival. 

In  the  afternoon,  immediately  after  saying 
None,  I  left  the  chapel  to  go  to  the  guest-house. 


178  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

I  saw  a  tall  man,  with  a  little  knapsack  slung 
on  his  back,  enter  the  quadrangle.  I  thought 
I  knew  him,  but  I  was  not  quite  sure.  I  went 
into  the  quadrangle  and  walked  towards  him. 

It  was  Sir  James  Clinton.  He  was  rather 
greyer  than  he  was  four  years  before,  and  he 
looked  tired  and  worn.  The  lines  on  his  brow 
and  round  his  mouth  were  deeper  and  harder. 
His  eyes  had  a  cold  glassy  look  which  they 
never  used  to  wear.  Do  you  know  the  look 
which  is  sometimes  in  the  eyes  of  one  who  has 
seen  a  sight  which  has  revolted  the  whole  na- 
ture? It  is  a  kind  of  fixed  glare,  the  eyes 
glassily  bright,  as  though  they  were  looking 
steadily  at  an  object  a  few  feet  away. 

The  look  in  Clinton's  eyes  was  like  that.  He 
was  clad  in  a  very  shabby  suit ;  he  wore  a  flan- 
nel shirt,  thick  comfortable-looking  boots,  and 
he  carried  a  heavy  stick. 

"This  is  a  very  uncermonious  visit  of  mine, 
Father  Standish,"  said  he,  as  he  shook  hands. 
"I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  inroad." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Sir  James,"  said 


SIR  JAMES  CLINTON  COMES     179 

I.  "You  will  stay  here,  of  course"?  I  am 
obliged  to  go  away  for  the  night;  but  I  shall 
be  back  to-morrow." 

"No,  no,"  he  answered,  "thank  you  very 
much.  It  is  only  a  flying  visit.  To  tell  the 
truth,  I  am  here  by  accident." 

"You  did  not  plan  to  come  here,  then?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  did  not.  I  have  been 
fool  enough  to  overdo  it.  My  sleep  failed  me. 
I  thought  I  would  try  a  week  in  the  fresh  air, 
walking  hard,  to  try  and  get  it  back.  I  don't 
want  to  begin  drugs.  I  know  what  that 
means." 

"You're  very  wise,"  I  answered. 

"Not  particularly,  I  fear,"  he  said.  "But 
I  am  not  yet,  I  believe,  an  utter  ass.  I  used 
to  be  very  fond  of  a  walking  tour  when  I  was 
a  young  man." 

"It  is  the  best  way  of  seeing  the  country," 
I  remarked. 

"The  only  real  way,"  he  answered.  "Be- 
sides, to  walk  in  the  country  restores  sanity 
as  nothing  else  does." 


i8o          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

I  noted  that  he  spoke  as  though  sanity  had 
departed  from  him  and  must  be  wooed  back; 
but  I  naturally  did  not  show  I  noted  it. 

"I  am  particularly  fond  of  the  Forest,"  said 
he.  "It  has  a  unique  charm." 

"Do  you  know  those  Downs  beyond  Lex- 
minster'?" 

"They  are  an  old  love  of  mine,"  he  replied. 
"I  am  en  route  for  them  now.  I  started  yes- 
terday. I  took  an  ordnance  map  to  help  me 
to  steer  my  course.  I  hate  asking  my  way.  I 
got  a  little  at  sea,  though.  Suddenly  I  found 
myself  at  the  back  gate  of  One  Holly.  Then 
I  knew  I  was  close  to  Brent.  I  thought  I 
would  come  and  see  Rene — "  He  checked 
himself,  and  added,  "And  you,  Father  Stand- 
ish,  of  course.  Can  I  see  him?" 

"This  is  very  unlucky!"  I  exclaimed.  "For 
Rene  is  not  here.  He  will  be  back  to-morrow 
if  you  could  stay.  It  is  the  first  time  he  has 
been  away  from  Brent,  even  for  an  hour,  since 
he  came  here  more  than  four  years  ago." 

Clinton   was   certainly   in   a   contradictory 


SIR  JAMES  CLINTON  COMES     181 

frame  of  mind.  I  saw  a  look  of  genuine  relief 
cross  his  face.  Then  it  faded,  and  was  re- 
placed by  a  shade  of  disappointment. 

I  think  he  came  to  Brent  in  a  mixed  mood. 
He  shrank  from  seeing  his  son,  because  his  am- 
bition for  him  was  thwarted. 

But  One  Holly  gate  brought  before  him  the 
memory  of  the  holland-clad,  bare-legged  sprite 
he  had  loved.  That  tender  memory  drove  him 
to  Brent. 

When  he  asked  to  see  Rene  the  memory  of 
the  child  faded,  and  he  shrank  from  that  which 
would  bring  the  prick  of  pain. 

But  directly  he  knew  he  could  not  see  him, 
the  tender  thought  which  sent  him  here  re- 
asserted itself.  He  was  a  little  sorry  Rene  was 
away. 

"It  is  very  unfortunate,"  he  said.  "Has  he 
gone  far,  Father  Standish*?" 

"No,"  I  answered.  "He  and  my  friend, 
David  Alison,  have  gone  together  to  help  to  get 
in  the  harvest  for  an  old  fellow  who  has  a  farm 
on  the  Downs  beyond  Lexminster." 


182  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"David  Alison  the  writer?"  said  Clinton.  "I 
know  his  books." 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "He  lives  here.  He  and 
Rene  have  gone  about  eight  or  nine  miles  to 
lend  a  hand  on  this  farm.  I  was  going  there 
to-night  myself,  to  see  the  farmer's  daughter, 
who  is  ill  and  in  sorrow.  I  shall  return  with 
Rene  and  Alison  to-morrow.  Could  you  not 
stay  here  till  Rene  comes*?" 

"No,  no,  thank  you,"  said  Clinton.  "I  must 
push  on.  You  have  got  in  your  harvest  here, 
then?" 

"It  was  carried  ten  days  ago,"  I  answered. 
"It  was  an  early  and  a  good  one,  thank  God." 

"I  am  glad  Rene  is  able  to  do  some  useful 
work,"  said  Clinton.  "At  least" — he  gave  a 
queer,  unpleasant  little  laugh — "if  it  is  useful." 

"Surely  it  is  so,"  I  replied.  "It  must  be  use- 
ful to  gather  in  the  corn,  Sir  James.  Without 
bread  the  people  would  starve." 

"Do  you  think  that  would  be  a  serious  evil?" 
he  said,  with  an  intense  cynicism  in  voice  and 
manner. 


SIR  JAMES  CLINTON  COMES     183 

"Surely!     Do  not  you?' 

His  only  answer  was  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders. I  let  the  matter  drop.  I  saw  the  man 
was  in  some  evil  strait  of  mind,  rather  than  of 
body. 

At  that  moment  a  thought  entered  my  mind 
with  a  decision  and  clarity  which  gave  me  a 
startled  sense  that  it  was  one  of  urgent  im- 
portance. I  mean  I  had  a  clearly-cut  convic- 
tion it  was  a  matter  of  vital  importance  to 
Sir  James  Clinton  that  it  should  be  put  before 
him,  and  also  that  he  should  fall  in  with  it. 

Most  people,  I  believe,  have  these  flashes 
at  times.  Women  have  them  more  frequently 
than  men  do.  Some  people  call  them  "intui- 
tions," others  call  them  "guidance."  In  nine 
cases  out  of  ten  I  think  it  is  best  to  disregard 
them.  In  the  tenth,  perhaps,  it  is  advisable 
to  follow  them.  Those  who  regard  them  as 
supernatural  leadings  are  commonly  led  astray 
by  them.  I  have  noted  that  few  such  people 
accept  "guidance"  which  is  wholly  opposed  to 
their  personal  wishes,  so  that  it  becomes  for 


184          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

them  a  sort  of  supernatural  sanction  for  self- 
will. 

When,  therefore,  this  conviction  entered  my 
mind  I  turned  it  over  and  considered  it,  while  I 
chatted  with  Clinton.  I  thought  the  idea  was 
certainly  a  harmless  one.  It  seemed  to  be  al- 
most impossible  that  it  could  be  as  enormously 
important  as  it  seemed  to  be.  But  it  could  do 
no  harm  if  it  were  carried  out.  Perhaps  it 
might  comfort  Clinton  to  see  Rene  at  work 
with  other  men.  He  might  feel  it  was  better 
for  him  to  be  at  Brent  than  with  the  doctor. 
When  I  had  reached  this  conclusion  I  spoke. 

"It  is  a  great  pity,  isn't  it?"  said  I,  taking 
care  to  speak  rather  carelessly,  for  I  knew  that 
if  Clinton  thought  I  was  urging  it  upon  him 
he  would  refuse  at  once.  "Pity,  when  you 
came  on  purpose  to  see  Rene,  your  plans  should 
be  thwarted  like  this." 

"It  is  very  annoying,"  he  assented. 

I  believe  the  idea  that  he  had  an  intention 
which  was  suddenly  opposed  by  circumstances 
made  him  feel  a  genuine  annoyance  in  the  mat- 


SIR  JAMES  CLINTON  COMES     185 

ter.  The  annoyance  took  birth  from  the  idea. 
He  began  to  feel  a  desire  to  surmount  obstacles 
and  carry  out  his  originally  lukewarm  deter- 
mination to  see  Rene. 

"You  do  not  want  to  delay  here,"  said  I. 
"But  I  don't  see,  after  all,  why  your  intention 
should  be  crossed.  You  might  take  the  farm 
on  your  way  across  the  Downs." 

"Well,  really!"  said  he,  "I  think  I  might  do 
that." 

"It's  in  a  most  fascinating  corner,  tucked 
away  in  a  fold  of  the  Downs.  A  delightful 
old  farm!  The  Downs  rise  above  it  towards 
the  sea." 

"How  far  did  you  say*?"  he  asked. 

"About  eight  miles,"  I  answered.  "It  takes 
me  something  under  three  hours  to  walk.  You 
would  probably  be  quicker." 

"Could  I  put  up  there  for  the  night?" 

"I  am  sure  you  could.  It  is  a  big,  rambling 
old  house,  and  they  are  homely,  hospitable  peo- 
ple, old-fashioned  farmers.  There  is  a  tiny 
hamlet  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off.  The  vicar  there 


i86          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

is  a  bachelor  with  a  most  amiable  cook-house- 
keeper. I  know  him.  He  would  give  you  a 
bed,  if  you  don't  care  for  the  farm." 

"You  are  walking  there  yourself?" 

"I  am,"  I  answered.  "I  shall  start  about  four 
o'clock.  Would  you  care  to  walk  with  me,  or 
is  solitude  a  part  of  your  programme?  Do 
not  mind  saying  if  it  is  so.  I  shall  fully  un- 
derstand." 

"Solitude  is  by  no  means  a  part  of  my  pro- 
gramme if  I  can  get  your  company,  Father 
Standish,"  replied  he  politely. 

I  hope  this  speech  was  as  truthful  as  it  was 
courtly.  He  said  he  would  stroll  in  the  gar- 
dens till  I  was  ready.  At  five  o'clock  that 
afternoon  we  set  out  side  by  side  through  the 
still  sun-embroidered  Forest  paths  (alas,  the 
trees  are  dwindling  fast!)  towards  the  smooth 
curved  slopes  of  the  Lexminster  Downs. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  PILGRIMAGE 

WE  walked  slowly.  It  was  warm,  and  a  glori- 
ous day.  We  timed  our  starting  by  "summer 
time,"  and  the  sun  set  that  night  at  7.40  by 
the  same  computation.  The  Downs,  when  we 
reached  them,  were  bathed  in  golden  light.  The 
lower  slopes  were  cultivated.  Most  of  the  corn 
was  cut,  though  some  was  not  yet  carried. 
Here  and  there  were  fields  of  barley,  oats  and 
wheat  yet  unreaped.  Some  were  injured  by 
the  heavy  rains  and  gales  of  that  August.  I 
remember  standing  a  long  time  watching  the 
tremble  of  the  wind  across  a  sunlit  field  of 
golden  barley.  Butterflies  were  skipping  over 
a  field  of  clover  through  which  we  passed.  It 
must  have  been  a  second  crop,  I  suppose.  It 
was  crimson  clover.  I  saw  fluttering  over  the 

flowers    tortoiseshell,    orange-tip,    and    little 
187 


i88          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

azure-blue  butterflies;  and  one  gorgeous  pea- 
cock slowly  opening  and  shutting  its  wings, 
perched  on  a  tall  grass  stalk.  We  passed  a 
dew-pond  on  a  slope  of  the  Downs;  there  were 
dragon-flies  flashing  to  and  fro  over  it;  big  blue 
ones,  and  a  smaller,  golden  brown. 

We  talked  very  little.  Clinton  seemed  to 
desire  silence.  I  fell  in  gladly  with  his  mood. 
It  falls  to  my  lot  in  life  to  talk  a  good  deal; 
but  I  prefer  silence. 

Little  by  little  the  exquisite  peace  and  beauty 
of  the  Downs  began  to  jar  on  Clinton.  He 
glanced  at  me.  The  sight  of  those  Downs,  of 
the  smooth  curving  lines,  the  great  arch  of  the 
sky,  the  living  creatures,  both  plants  and  in- 
sects, always  makes  me  realise  more  intensely 
that  the  earth  is  the  Presence  Chamber  of  God. 
I  suppose  he  saw  this  in  my  face.  It  roused 
in  him  a  spirit  of  challenge  and  revolt. 

He  suddenly  stopped  short,  leaned  on  his 
stick  and  spoke : 

"You  were  surprised  when  I  doubted  whether 
it  would  be  an  evil  if  the  people  itarved?" 


A  PILGRIMAGE  189 

"I  was,"  I  answered. 

"Why  were  you  surprised1?"  said  Clinton. 
There  was  a  nervous,  irritable  snap  in  the  tones 
of  his  voice. 

"Partly  because  I  thought  you  would  not 
wish  it  from  motives  of  humanity." 

"And ?" 

"And  mainly  because  it  was  strange  doctrine 
from  you !" 

"Why—from  me?' 

"Because  you  are  notoriously  and  confessedly 
working  yourself  to  the  last  notch  for  your 
country." 

"It  is  true,"  he  replied.  "So  I  am.  But 
why*?" 

"I  suppose  from  patriotism." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort !" 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  was  silent. 

"It  is  partly  from  habit,"  he  said.  "It  is 
a  trick.  It  does  not  spring  from  conviction. 
But  it  is  mainly  because  if  this  machine" — 
he  touched  his  brow  with  his  fingers — "were 
not  given  grist  to  grind,  it  would  grind  itself. 


190          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

I  don't  want  it  to  do  that,  for  my  wife's  sake. 
She's  suffered  quite  enough  already." 

He  leaned  forward  a  little,  looking  at  me. 

"Since  she  came  back  from  seeing  Rene  about 
a  year  ago  she  has  been  at  rest,"  he  said.  "I 
see  that,  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  Though  her 
reason  for  restfulness  appears  to  me  to  be  quite 
inadequate.  Still — she's  a  woman.  It  satisfies 
her." 

"Women  are  more  easily  satisfied  than  men, 
you  think?"  I  asked. 

He  looked  at  me  more  keenly  than  ever;  and 
the  fixed,  glassy  look  in  his  eyes  deepened. 

"Hear  a  confession !"  he  said  at  last,  bitterly. 
"Hear  a  confession  from  an  impenitent  sceptic ! 
I  have  never  believed  in  God.  But  I  did  once 
believe  in  man.  Now  I  believe  in  neither." 

He  paused  for  a  second,  as  though  to  see 
how  I  should  take  this.  When  I  remained 
silent  and  attentive,  he  went  on. 

"Humanity,"  he  said  slowly  and  deliberately, 
"is  not  worth  working  for,  fighting  for,  think- 
ing for,  living  for,  dying  for,  or  praying  for. 


A  PILGRIMAGE  191 

The  'other  world'  is  to  me  a  madman's  dream ; 
and  this  world  is  an  idiot's  nightmare.  There's 
my  poor  boy,  Rene,  about  whom — I  am  not  go- 
ing to  make  pretty  speeches  now — you  talked 
that  amazing  balderdash  four  years  ago.  It  was 
an  awful  blow  to  me,  once,  that  he  is  as  he  is. 
It  hurts  me  now  to  think  of  it.  But  it  is  utter 
foolery  in  me  to  be  hurt.  He  may  just  as  well 
be  thus  as  any  other  way." 

Again  he  paused,  as  though  for  my  com- 
ment. When  I  made  none,  he  went  on. 

"The  whole  show  is  an  utter  failure,  an 
abject  futility!  My  wife  was  right  when  she 
said  so  four  years  ago.  Look  for  yourself! 
Brutality  and  lying,  hypocrisy,  greed,  intrigue, 
chicanery,  and  filth  of  all  kinds !  I  had  'faith* 
once;  not  in  God,  but  in  man.  I  have  none 
now  in  anything  in  heaven  or  on  earth." 

I  was  still  silent.  He  watched  my  face  for 
a  few  seconds. 

"You  are  shocked,  of  course,"  he  said. 
"That  goes  without  saying  in  a  man  of  your 
cloth.  I  suppose  you  are  surprised.  I  notice 


192  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

that  most  people's  faith  in  humanity  seems 
to  be  increased.  It  is  not  so  with  me.  I  don't 
doubt  the  virtue  and  heroism  of  individuals. 
But  humanity  in  the  aggregate  seems  to  me  to 
be  a  foul,  raging  sort  of  a  beast ;  and  all  human 
schemes  come  to  naught  in  face  of  that  fact.  I 
think  mankind  is  a  failure." 

Then  I  spoke. 

"I  am  not  shocked,"  I  said.  "And  I  am 
not  in  the  least  surprised.  I  do  not  see  how 
you  can  believe  in  man  if  you  don't  believe  in 
God." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  God  and  man  are  joined  together 
in  indissoluble  marriage.  If  God  goes,  man 
goes  with  Him ;  he  has  lost  his  root.  My  faith 
in  man  abides,  because  my  faith  in  God  Who 
sustains  him  abides.  If  I  started  by  not  be- 
lieving in  God,  I  should  never  have  believed 
in  man.  Therefore  I  think  you  must  really 
have  a  greater  capacity  for  faith  than  I." 

"I  did  not  suppose  you  would  take  that  at- 
titude," he  said  slowly.  "You — "  he  seemed 


A  PILGRIMAGE  193 

to  search  his  mind  for  the  right  word  to  ex- 
press his  thought —  "you  are  the  most  unshak- 
able person  I  have  ever  met.  It  is  not  that 
you  are  outwardly  unshaken,  nor  even  that  you 
are  inwardly  unshaken.  You  are  unshakable. 
That  is  the  point." 

He  punched  the  turf  reflectively  with  his 
stick. 

"It's  queer,"  he  said,  as  though  to  himself. 
"It's  uncommonly  queer." 

"What  is  queer?"  I  asked.  He  looked  at  me 
again. 

"Your  attitude,"  he  answered. 

"What  is  there  in  my  attitude  that  strikes 
you  as  queer  $" 

"You  astound  me,  Father  Standish,"  he  re- 
plied. "I  tell  you  so  frankly,  and  I'll  tell  you 
why.  I  think  you  are  a  man  of  unquestionable 
ability.  I  think  you  are  sane  and  well-bal- 
anced, as  men  go.  Therefore  by  what  miracle 
of  utter  irrationality  you  seriously  maintain 
the  amazing " 

He  stopped. 


194          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"You  know,"  he  said  apologetically,  "I  am 
a  bit  overstrained.  My  tongue  has  a  trifle  run 
away  with  me.  I  really  have  no  right  to  insult 
your  faith,  especially  as  I  suppose  it  has 
prompted  your  kindness  to  my  boy." 

I  laughed  at  that. 

"Sir  James,"  I  said,  "my  faith  will  not  be 
injured  by  any  man's  insults.  I  should  like 
you  to  speak  quite  candidly  what  is  in  your 
mind." 

"Then  I  cannot  imagine  how  you  seriously 
believe  the  amazing  statements — "  he  checked 
himself — "the  statements  you  made  about 
Rene,  for  example,"  he  continued.  "I  can- 
not imagine  how  you  come  to  believe  in  a  super- 
natural order,  for  the  existence  of  which  you 
have  no  vestige  of  proof,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  I 
am  not  surprised  at  my  wife.  Women  have 
extraordinary  minds;  they  do  not  work  on  the 
same  principles  as  those  of  men." 

"Your  elder  daughter?"  I  suggested. 

"Margaret?"  he  said.  "Yes.  But  there  are 
extraordinary  gaps  and  inconsistencies  in  her 


A  PILGRIMAGE  195 

reasoning,  too.  I  should  not  be  surprised  at 
anything  she  believed ;  and  indeed  she  has  some 
extraordinarily  illogical  views.  But  when  I 
see  a  man  like  yourself — well !  it  astounds  me !" 

"You  must  admit,"  said  I,  "that  to  have 
such  a  belief  is  a  great  economy  of  energy." 

"How  so?" 

"There  is  a  large  amount  of  nervous  wear 
and  tear  which  one  is  spared.  Hence  one  has 
more  energy  to  devote  to  other  things." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"I  make  it  out  on  your  own  showing.  You 
say  you  are  suffering  from  overstrain  and  lack 
of  sleep,  because  you  are  compelled  to  go  on 
working  as  on  a  treadmill;  partly  from  force 
of  habit,  but  mainly  to  prevent  thought  which 
tends  to  madness.  You  have  nothing  and  no 
one  on  whom  to  depend  either  as  a  sustainer 
or  as  a  colleague,  because  God  does  not  exist, 
and  man  is  a  failure." 

"And  you?"  said  Clinton. 

"I  am  absolutely  convinced  that  man  is  not 
a.  failure." 


196          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

"Why  have  you  that  conviction*?" 
"Because  I  see  God  taking  infinite  pains 
over  his  training.  I  am  also  absolutely  con- 
vinced that  if  I  am  willing  to  do  God's  Will 
He  will  help  me  to  do  it.  Those  two  convic- 
tions, which  are,  as  you  said,  unshakable,  save 
me  a  great  deal  of  wear  and  tear." 

Clinton  did  not  speak  for  a  little  while.     At 
last  he  said: 

"Well!  I  suppose  we  must  be  going." 
We  walked  on  slowly.  We  loitered,  so  that 
the  sun  had  just  set  when  we  reached  the  farm. 
It  was  a  large  grey  stone  house;  the  roof  was 
covered  with  lichen,  moss  and  stone-crop. 
Swallows  built  under  the  eaves.  There  was  a 
sheltered  kitchen-garden  at  one  side,  in  which 
grew  a  jumble  of  vegetables  and  flowers.  For 
there  were  dahlias  and  blush-rose  bushes,  and 
masses  of  lavender  and  southernwood  growing 
side  by  side  with  rows  of  French  beans  and 
scarlet  runners.  There  were  apple-trees,  too, 
andi  tree?  loaded  with  ripe  plums. 


A  PILGRIMAGE  197 

We  saw  Alison  leaning  on  the  gate  with  an 
air  about  him  as  of  honest  toil. 

"We  thought  you  were  lost,  Father  An- 
thony," he  called  out. 

"I  could  not  get  away  from  Brent  till  rather 
late,"  I  replied.  "And  we  have  come  very 
leisurely." 

Then  I  introduced  him  to  Clinton,  and  ex- 
plained that  Rene  was  the  object  of  his  quest. 

"He  has  gone  up  to  the  Downs  above  the 
sea,"  said  Alison.  "He  would  not  stay  for  the 
excellent  supper  you  can  now  smell  cooking. 
He  was  off  directly  we  struck  work." 

"When  will  he  be  back?"  asked  Clinton. 

"Not  till  morning,"  said  Alison.  "He  ate 
a  chunk  of  admirable  barley  bread  which  our 
good  hostess  bakes;  he  drank  some  milk  from 
her  dairy,  filled  his  pockets  with  plums  from 
her  garden,  and  was  off.  He  shares  my  pas- 
sion for  sleeping  under  the  sky.  He  has  found 
a  little  heap  of  ruins  on  the  Downs  overhang- 
ing the  sea.  It  was  once  S.  Michael's  chapel, 


198          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

and  there  is  a  glorious  view  from  it  of  the  coast- 
line." 

"Will  he  sleep  there  to-night?"  said  Clin- 
ton. 

"He  is  sure  to  do  so.  It  is  still  half-roofed 
and  can  defy  a  rain-storm.  He  slept  there  last 
night.  But  you  might  seek  him  there  after 
supper,  Sir  James;  he  won't  have  turned  in  yet. 
The  sun  is  only  just  down." 

The  farmer  came  out  at  that  moment,  full 

v 

of  kindly  welcome  and  hospitality.  He  would 
not  hear  of  "Mr.  Clinton's  father"  going  to  the 
vicarage  for  the  night.  He  said  there  was 
plenty  of  room  at  the  farm,  if  "the  gentleman 
could  put  up  with  their  plain  ways." 

It  was  a  new  position  for  Sir  James  Clinton 
to  be  regarded  merely  as  "Mr.  Clinton's  father." 

The  farmer  was  full  of  regret  because  "the 
young  gentleman  had  gone  off  with  nothing 
to  eat,  like." 

"I  will  eat  his  share  and  my  own  too,  Mr. 
Allan,"  said  Clinton,  cheerily. 

I  think  he  was  beginning  to  feel  the  sooth- 


A  PILGRIMAGE  199 

ing  magic  of  the  quiet,  sweet-smelling,  homely 
place. 

We  had  a  very  good  supper  in  the  big,  clean, 
farm-house  kitchen. 

"And  now,"  said  Clinton,  when  we  rose,  "we 
will  go  and  hunt  down  this  shy  game — this 
erratic  young  relative  of  mine." 

"It  is  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
walk,"  said  Alison.  "Across  a  field  or  two, 
over  the  stile  yonder,  and  then  up  the  slope." 

Clinton  looked  at  me.  I  saw  he  wished  me 
to  go  too. 

If  he  had  not  done  so  I  should  not  have  gone. 

I  had  supposed  he  would  go  alone,  and  I 
should  see  the  poor  girl  I  came  to  visit.  But 
she  was  ill  and  in  her  room.  It  was  possible, 
though  it  was  still  early,  that  she  was  settled 
for  the  night.  Moreover,  I  saw  Clinton  plainly 
desired  to  have  my  company.  Therefore  we 
went  forth  together  in  the  sweet-smelling  dusk. 
We  went  forth — he  and  I — to  look  for  Rene. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  WHITE  GLORY 

THE  great  gale  which  had  recently  swept  the 
land  was  over.  It  was  a  still  night.  In  that 
sheltered  hollow  of  the  Downs  we  felt  no  wind. 
It  was  fair  and  clear,  save  for  some  light  clouds 
which  were  beginning  to  drift  upwards  from  the 
horizon.  The  dew  lay  thick  and  heavy  on  the 
grass.  The  moon  was  up.  As  we  went  out, 
the  church  clock  struck,  and  the  carillon  rang 
out  slowly  "The  Sicilian  Mariners'  Hymn." 
Moonlight  and  the  light  of  evening  fading  into 
night  were  blended.  We  walked  through  a 
reaped  field  full  of  sheaves  waiting  to  be  car- 
ried when  day  should  return.  Both  at  Brent, 
and  hereabouts,  the  rain  and  storms  did  little 
harm.  We  passed  through  an  unreaped  field 
of  oats.  The  oats  rustled  softly  in  a  little 

breeze  that  touched  them.     Then  we  climbed 
200 


THE  WHITE  GLORY  201 

a  stile  and  walked  through  a  bit  of  pasture 
where  we  could  hear  the  cows  feeding. 

A  cow-bell  at  the  neck  of  one  of  them  tinkled 
as  she  moved.  A  dog  barked  far  away  on  the 
Downs  behind  us.  A  white  owl  skipped  by 
like  a  pale  shadow ;  a  night  moth  flew  past. 

We  left  the  pasture  for  the  slopes  and  began 
to  climb.  We  climbed  silently.  The  hush 
was  so  great  that  it  held  us  by  its  unspoken 
mystery.  It  was  only  broken  by  a  drowsy 
noise  of  distant  waves,  and  the  murmur  of  a 
sheepfold  very  far  away  on  a  farm  beyond 
the  hamlet.  The  sounds  which  broke  the  quiet 
of  the  night  only  seemed  to  intensify  the  silence. 

At  last  we  reached  the  summit,  and  paused 
for  a  second,  looking  at  the  sea  and  the  long 
line  of  the  coast. 

We  could  see  the  broken  half-roofed  walls 
and  a  heap  of  stones;  and  we  could  also  see 
Rene. 

He  stood  by  the  stones,  looking  seawards. 
He  looked  very  small  and  insignificant,  stand- 


202  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

ing  alone  on  the  great  deserted  sweep  of  the 
down,  under  the  night  sky. 

He  was  not  very  tall,  and  he  was  thin  and 
lightly  built.  He  looked  a  little  thing — an 
atom  of  no  consequence — a  thread  of  human- 
ity lit  by  a  tiny  spark  of  easily  extinguished 
life. 

The  scene  is  extraordinarily  clear  and  vivid 
in  my  memory.  I  see  each  detail : 

The  moonlight  on  the  water  and  the  Downs. 
The  ruined  chapel  and  the  heap  of  stones. 
Rene  standing  there  with  a  khaki-coloured 
blanket  lying  in  a  heap  at  his  feet.  I  can  feel, 
in  memory,  the  cool  bitter-sweetness  of  the 
wind  from  the  sea,  and  see  the  thin  grass-stalks 
and  the  harebells  bending  in  it;  and  a  night 
bird  that  flung  itself  silently  into  space  from 
the  cliff  summit. 

Clinton  moved  to  go  forward,  and  I  followed 
him. 

He  walked  a  few  paces,  and  stopped  with 
a  jerk;  his  stick  fell  from  his  hand  on  to  the 
springy  turf  with  a  little  thud.  I  came  up 


THE  WHITE  GLORY  103 

level  with  him  and  looked  at  his  face.  He 
was  staring  straight  in  front  of  him  with  a  look 
in  his  eyes  of  utter  and  stunned  amazement. 
I  felt  a  great  awe  and  wonder;  and  I  remem- 
ber how,  even  as  I  looked  and  marvelled,  for 
I  saw  he  could  see  something  I  did  not  see,  my 
ear  was  caught  by  the  little  familiar  sound  of  a 
field-cricket's  cry  on  the  turf  at  our  feet. 

The  next  moment  the  angel  of  the  Lord 
opened  my  eyes,  and  I  saw  too. 

The  plaice  where  Rene  stood  was  wrapped 
in  a  turmoil  of  white  light,  such  as  had  blazed 
before  the  eyes  of  the  priest-artist  in  Brent 
Church. 

It  was  the  divine  Substance  of  Life;  it  was 
a  living  Body,  the  Handmaid  of  Him  Who 
made  It.  I  saw  it  did  not  wrap  Rene  round. 
It  flowed  through  and  through  him ;  so  that 
the  pure  body  and  childlike  soul  became  an 
expression  and  instrument  of  the  White  Glory. 
I  gazed,  as  I  thought,  on  a  foreshadowing  of 
the  mystery  of  the  resurrection  of  the  body.  I 
saw  holy,  divine  Power  linked  in  an  eternal 


204          THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

marriage  with  perfected  and  glorified  matter. 

This  I  saw  first;  and  then  I  saw  something 
else.  For  this  unspeakable  Glory,  this  white 
world  of  the  Life  of  God,  was  everywhere.  I 
know  it  is  not  less  there,  as  I  write,  because  He 
Who  opened  my  eyes  has  seen  fit  to  close  them 
again. 

It  gleamed  like  a  living  rampart  along  the 
headlands  blazing  into  life,  it  shone  over  the 
waters  of  the  sea.  Over  the  sleeping  fields,  the 
cattle,  the  little  church,  the  lonely  farms  it 
passed;  the  Glory  of  God,  the  Power  of  the 
Lord,  creating  and  sustaining. 

As  I  looked  I  saw  Rene,  wholly  unseeing  of 
the  Glory,  kneel  down  and  with  folded  hands 
and  bowed  head  say  his  brief  and  simple  night 
prayers.  I  saw  him  rise,  take  off  his  coat  and 
roll  it  into  a  pillow  for  his  head,  lie  down  by 
the  stones,  pull  his  khaki  blanket  over  him, 
and  cross  himself.  He  lay  there,  a  little,  dark, 
quiet  figure,  in  the  billows  of  white  light. 

Before  the  vision  left  me  I  saw  one  other 
thing. 


THE  WHITE  GLORY  205 

Even  as  before  the  altar  a  holy  figure  shone 
forth  from  the  whiteness,  so  now  I  saw  a  great 
and  fair  company  shine  forth.  To  and  fro, 
coming  and  going,  in  ceaseless  worship  and 
ceaseless  service,  I  saw  them. 

The  mighty  angels,  the  mighty  dead,  and 
with  them  the  "spirits  and  souls  of  the  right- 
eous," purified  and  at  peace.  I  saw  the  watch- 
ful guardians  who  serve  the  joyous  Shepherd 
of  the  child's  vision.  I  saw  the  untiring  patrol 
of  land  and  sea,  the  watchers  who  cease  not 
to  worship  and  lift  up  souls  to  God  in  their 
prayer. 

I  saw  living  and  dead,  men  and  angels, 
bound  together  in  the  Communion  of  Saints, 
and  I  saw  the  binding  of  them  in  a  Body  held 
as  a  common  heritage,  the  holy  Whiteness  of 
the  Life  of  God.  I  saw  them  as  the  channels 
of  His  Power  and  of  His  Will  patiently  and 
ceaselessly  toiling  to  fashion  the  visible  into 
the  likeness  of  the  invisible. 

Then  my  eyes  were  closed  again.  I  saw 
only  the  sleeping  earth,  the  star-lit  sky,  the 


THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

heaving  sea,  the  figure  covered  by  the  khaki 
blanket,  and  the  moonlight  resting  on  it  all. 
And  I  heard  the  insect's  sharp,  fine  cry  from 
the  dew-wet  turf  at  my  feet. 

Clinton  turned  and  stumbled  blindly  down 
the  slope.  I  knew  he  had  seen  what  I  saw. 
I  followed  him. 

"My  God!"  I  heard  him  whisper.  "My 
God!" 

As  we  went  our  way  by  the  path  we  had 
come,  I  heard  him  muttering  again  and  again 
to  himself  those  words : 

"My  God !     My  God !     My  God !" 

I  think  it  was  both  a  Confession  and  a 
Prayer. 


CHAPTER  XX 

FATHER  ANTHONY'S  POSTSCRIPT 

AND  now,  Catherine  my  niece,  you  will  say: 
"How  does  such  a  story  as  this  prove  that  the 
world  is  governed  by  Justice?" 

It  does  not  prove  it.  It  did  not  aim  to  do 
so.  It  suggests — it  does  not  give  proof,  but 
it  suggests — that  we  are  not  able  to  judge  or 
decide  as  to  what  constitutes  justice,  when  the 
Justice  we  are  trying  to  understand  has  so  gi- 
gantic a  field  of  operation,  and  an  all  but  in- 
finite gradation  of  causes  and  effects  to 
balance. 

The  tale  of  Rene  also  suggests  to  you  that 
as  there  are  no  two  leaves  alike  in  a  wood, 
so  are  there  no  two  souls  precisely  the  same, 
that  each  has  its  purpose  and  its  office  in  the 
mighty  Plan,  and  is  being  slowly  shaped  for 

that  office.    If  that  is  so,  the  question  of  God's 
207 


208  THE  WHITE  ISLAND 

justice  in  differing  lives  sinks  out  of  sight.  We 
are  not  solely  watching  the  proceedings  of  an 
administrator  of  justice  (not  that  I  do  not 
believe  in  an  exact  and  awful  Justice;  I  simply 
say  I  cannot  judge  of  its  working,  because  its 
scope  and  sweep  are  too  great  for  me) ;  we  are 
watching  a  Creative  Artist.  This  story  of 
Rene  tends  to  show  an  individual  care,  a  con- 
sidered mode  of  dealing  with  each  soul  brought 
within  the  range  of  a  certain  influence.  Each 
was  different,  and  each  was  dealt  with  accord- 
ing to  its  need 

Therefore  I  say  we  do  not  know  enough  to 
doubt;  we  only  know  enough  to  believe. 

And  as  the  doors  swing  wider  we  see  the 
same  stupendous  working  stretching  on  into 
the  white  reaches  of  the  worlds  invisible,  until 
thought  drops  dead,  and  vision  fails  before 
the  Truth  of  that  Eternity  in  whose  most  secret 
Shrine  abides  Justice. 


L'  ENVOI. 

TO  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  FLAMING  SWORD 

KING  of  an  age  most  mild, 
When  we  shall  know  the  Child, 

The  Babe  of  wondrous  power; 
Who  in  our  hearts  as  One, 
A  little  secret  Sun, 

Dwells  at  this  hour. 
Fire  these  dull  hearts,  O  Lord ! 
Touch  with  thy  flaming  sword ; 
Till  to  the  Babe  All-Wise 
We  lift  adoring  eyes; 

Giving  to  Him  life's  sum, 
All  that  we  be. 
Crying:    "In  Thee  we  see 
Perfect  simplicity. 
O  Babe !  the  warrior's  Lord, 
Great  Michael's  King  ador'd, 

Thy  Kingdom  come!" 


